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A  ROMANCE 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  WAVERLEY,  IVANHOE,  &c.  &c 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 


VOL.  L 


PHILADELPHIA: 

H.  C.  CAREY  AND  I.  LEA CHESNUT  STREET, 

••••••• ••••••••••••••••• 

1823. 


INTRODUCTION. 


And  one  .ho  hath  had  W^»  jj^,  jy^; 

When  honest  Dogberry  sums  up  and  re- 
cites all  the  claims  which  he  had  to  respect 
ability  and  which,  as  he  opined,  ought  to 
have  exempted  him  from  the  injurious  ap- 
PelaUoi  conferred  on  him  by  Master  Gen 
tleman   Conrade,  it  is  remarkable  that  he 
ayTnot  more  emphasis  even  upon  his  dou- 
ble sown,  (a  matter  of  some  importance  m  a 
certfui  ci  devant  capital  which  I  wot  of  )  or 
upon  his  being  «  a  pretty  piece  of  flesh  as 
"K  in  Messina,"  or  even  upon  the  con  lu- 
sWe  argument  of  bis  being  «  a  rich .fellow 
enough^"  thau  upon  his  being  one  that  hath 

had  losses.  .  ;1 

Indeed, I  have  always  observed  >«»'€*»• 

dreu  of  prosperity,  whether  by  way  of  hiding 
heir  t\\  glow  of  splendour  from  Lose  whom 
ortune  has  treate'd  more  harshly,  or  who- 

ther  that  to  have  risen  in  spite  of  calamity 
s  as  honourable  to  their  fortune  as  it  is  to 

a  fortress  to  have  u»oerSon%*  ?lef  CT'T/ 
ever  this  be,  1  have  observed  that  such  per- 


ii  INTRODUCTION. 

sons  never  fail  to  entertain  yon  with  an  ac- 
count of  l he  damage  (hey  sustain  by  the  hard- 
ness of  the  times.  Yon  seldom  dine  at  a  well- 
supplied  table,  but   what  the  intervals  be- 
tween the  Champagne,  the  Burgundy,  and 
the  Hock,  are  filled,  if  your  entertainer  be 
a  monied  man,  with  the  fall  of  interest  and 
the  difficulty  of  finding  investments  for  cash, 
which  is  therefore  lying  idle  on  his  hands  ; 
or,  if  he  be  a  landed  proprietor,  with  a  woe- 
ful detail  of  arrears  and  diminished  rents. 
This  hath  its  effects.     The  guests  sigh  and 
shake    their   heads    in  cadence    with   their 
landlord,  look  on  the  sideboard  loaded  with 
plate,  sip  ouce  more  the  rich   wines  which 
flow  around  them  in  quirk  circulation,  and 
think  of  the  genuine  benevolence,  which, 
thus  stinted  of  its  means,  still  lavishes  all 
that  it  yetpossesses  on  hospitality;  and,  what 
is  yet  more  flattering,  on  the  wealth,  which, 
undiminished  by  these  losses,  still  continues, 
like  the  inexhaustible  hoard  of  the  generous 
Aboulcasem,  to  sustain,  without  impoverish- 
ment, such  copious  evacuations. 

This  querulous  humour,  however,  hath  its 
limits,  like  to  the  conning  of  grievances, 
which  all  valetudinarians  know  is  a  most 
facinating  pastime,  so  long  as  there  is  no- 
thing to  complain  of  but  chronic  complaints. 
But  I  never  heard  a  man  whose  credit  was 
actually  verging  to  decay  talk  of  the  diminu- 
tion of  his  funds  ;  and  my  kind  and  intelli- 
gent physician  assures  me,  that  it  is  a  rare 


INTRODUCTION.  iii 

thing  with  those  afflicted  with  a  good  sound 
fever,  or  any  such  active  disorder,  which 

With  mntal  crisis  doth  portend 
His  life  to  approirinque  an  end, 

to  make  his  agonies  the  subject  of  amusing 
conversation. 

Having  deeply  considered  all  these  things, 
1  am  no  longer  able  to  disguise  from  my 
readers,  that  I  am  neither  so  unpopular  nor 
so  low  in  fortune,  as  not  to  have  my  share 
in  the  distresses  which  at  present  afflict  the 
monied  and  landed  interest  of  these  realms. 
Your  authors  who  live  upon  a  mutton  chop 
may  rejoice  that  it  has  fallen  to  three-pence 
per  pound,  and,  if  they  have  children,  gra- 
tulate  themselves  that  the  peck-loaf  may  be 
had  for  sixpence  ;  but  we  who  belong  to  the 
tribe  which  are  ruined  by  peace  and  plenty 
— we  who  have  lands  and  beeves,  and  sell 
what  these  poor  gleaners  must  buy— we  are 
driven  to  despair  by  the  veiy  events  which 
would  make  all  Grub-street  flluminate  all  its 
attics,  if  Grub-street  could  spare  candle-ends 
for  the  purpose.  I  therefore  put  in  my  proud 
claim  to  share  in  the  distresses  which  only 
affect  the  wealthy  ;  and  write  myself  down, 
with   Dogberry,   "a  rich  fellow   enough," 
but  still  "  one  who  hath  had  losses." 

With  the  same  generous  spirit  of  emu- 
lation, I  have  had  lately  recourse  to  the 
universal  remedy  for  the  impecuniosity  of 
which  I  complain — a  brief  residence  in  a 
southern  climate,  by  which  1  have  not  only 


iv  INTRODUCTION. 

saved  many  cart-loads  of  coals,  but  have  also 
had  the  pleasure  to  excite  general  sympathy 
for  my  decayed  circumstances  among  those, 
who,  if  my  revenue  had  continued  to  he  spent 
among  them,  would  have  cared  little  if  I  had 
been  hanged.     Thus,  while  I  driuk  my  vin 
ordinaire*  my  brewer  fiuds  the  sale  of  his 
small-beer  diminished — while  I  discuss  my 
flask  of  cinque  francs,  my  modicum  of  port 
hangs  on  my  wine-merchant's  hands — while 
my  coutelet  a-la  Maintenon  is  smoking  on 
my  plate,  the  mighty  surloin  hangs  on  its 
peg  in  the  shop  of  my  blue  aproned   friend 
in  the  village.  Whatever,  in  short,  I  spend 
here,  is  missed  at  home;   and  the  few  sous 
gained  by  the  gargon  perruquier,  nay,  the 
very  crust  I  give  to  his  little  bare-bottomed, 
red-eyed  poodle,  are  autant \ierdu  to  my  old 
friend  the  barber,  and  honest  Trusty,   the 
mastiff-dog  in  the  yard.    So  that  I  have  the 
happiness  of  knowing  at  every  turn,  that 
my  absence  is  both  missed  aud  moaned  by 
those,  who  would  care  little  were  I  in  my 
coffin  were  they  sure  of  the  custom  of  my 
executors.  From  this  charge  of  self-seeking 
and  indifference,  however,  I  solemnly  ex- 
cept Trusty,  the  yard  dog,  whose  courtesies 
towards  me,  I  have  reason  to  think,  were  of 
a  more  disinterested  character  than  those  of 
any  other  person  who  assisted  me  to  con- 
sume the  bounty  of  the  Public. 

Alas  !  the  advantage  of  exciting  such  ge- 
neral sympathies  at  home  cannot  be  secured 
without  incurring  considerable  personal  in- 


1NTR0DUCTI0X.  v 

couveuience.    '*  If  thou  wishest  me  to  weep, 
thou   must  first    shed    tears   thyself,"  says 
Horace  ;  and,  truly,  I  could   sometimes  cry 
myself  at  the  exchange  1  have  made  of  the 
domestic  comforts   which  custom  had  ren- 
dered necessaries,  for  the  foreign  substitutes 
which  caprice  and  love  of  change  have  ren- 
dered fashionable.   E  cannot  hut  confess  with 
shame,  that  my  borne- bred  stomach  longs 
for  the  genuine  steak,  after  the  fashion  of 
Dolly's,  hot  from  the  gridiron,  brown  with- 
out, and  scarlet  when  the  knife  is  applied  ; 
and  all  the  delicacies  of  Vere's  carte f  with  his 
thousand  various  orthographies  of  Biffsticks 
deJtfouton,  do  not  supply  the  vacancy.  Then 
my  toother's  son  cannot  delight  in  thin  po- 
tations; and,  in  these  days  when  malt  is  had 
for  nothing,  I  am  convinced  that   a  double 
straick  of  John  Barleycorn  must  have  con- 
verted "  the  poor  domestic  creature,  small- 
beer,"  into  a  liquor  twenty  times  more  ge- 
nerous than   the  acid    unsubstantial  tipple, 
which  here  bears  the  honoured  name  of  wine, 
though,  in  substance  and  qualities,  much  si- 
milar to  your  Seine  water.     Their  higher 
wines,   indeed,  are   well   enough — there  is 
nothing  to  except  against  in  their  Chateau 
My rgo ut,  or  Sillery;yet  1  cannot  hut  re- 
member the  generous  qualities  of  my  sound 
old  Oporto.    Nay,  down  to  the  gargon  and 
his  poodle,  though  they  are  both  amusing 
animals,   and   play   ten   thousand   monkey 
tricks  which  are  diverting  enough,  yet  there 
was  more  sound  humour  in  the  wink  with 
a  f 


vi  INTRODUCTION. 

which  our  old  village  Pack  wood  used  to 
communicate -(he  news  of  the  morning,  than 
all  Antoine's  gambols  could  have  expressed 
in  a  week,  and  more  of  human  and  dog-like 
sympathy  in  the  wag  of  old  Trusty's  tail, 
than  if  his  rival,  Toutou,  had  stood  on  his 
hind  legs  for  a  twelvemonth. 

These  signs  of  repentance  come  perhaps 
a  little  late,  and  I  own  (for  I  must  he  en- 
tirely candid  with  my  dear  friend  the  Pub- 
lic,) that  they  have  been  somewhat  matured, 
by  the  perversion  of  my  niece  Christy  to  the 
ancient  Popish  faith  by  a  certain  whackiug 
priest  in  our  neighbourhood,  and   the  mar- 
riage of  my  aunt  Dorothy  to  a  demi-solde 
captain  of  horse,  a  ci-devant  member  of  the 
Legion  of  Honour,  and    who  would,  he  as- 
sures us,  have  been  a  Field-Marshal  by  this 
time,  had  our  old  friend  Buonaparte  conti- 
nued to  live  and  to  triumph.     For  the  mat- 
ter of  Christy,   I  must  own   her  head   had 
been  so  fairly  turned  at  Edinburgh  with  five 
routes    a-night,    that,    though  1  somewhat 
distrusted  the  means  and   medium  of  her 
conversion,  1  was  at  the  same  time  glad  to 
see  that  she  took  a  serious  thought  of  any 
kind  ; — besides,  there  was  little  loss  in  the 
matter,   for  the  Convent  took  her  off  my 
hands  for  a  very  reasonable  pension.     But 
aunt  Dorothy's  marriage    on  earth    was  a 
very  different  matter  from  Christian's  celes- 
tial espousals.    In  tiie  first  place,  there  was 
two  thousand  three-per-cents  as  much  lost 
to  my  family  as  if  the  sponge  had  been  drawn 


INTRODUCTION.  vii 

over  the  national  slate — for  who  the  deuce 
could  have  thought  aunt  Dorothy  would 
have  married?  Above  all,  who  would  have 
thought  a  woman  of  fifty  years'  experience 
would  have  married  a  French  anatomy,  his 
lower  branch  of  limbs  corresponding  with 
the  upper  branch,  as  if  one  pair  of  half-ex- 
tended compasses  had  been  placed  perpen- 
dicularly upon  the  top  of  another,  while  the 
space  on  which  the  hinges  revolved  quite 
sufficed  to  represent  the  body  ?  All  the  rest 
was  moustache,  pelisse,  and  calico  trowser. 
She  might  have  commanded  a  Polk  of  real 
Cossacks  in  1815,  for  half  the  wealth  which 
she  surrendered  to  this  military  scarecrow. 
However,  there  is  no  more  to  be  said  upon 
the  matter,  especially  as  she  had  come  the 
length  of  quoting  Rousseau  for  sentiment — 
and  so  let  that  pass. 

Having  thus  expectorated  my  bile  against 
a  laud,  which  is,  notwithstanding,  a  very 
merry  land,  aud  which  J  cannot  blame,  be- 
cause I  sought  it,  and  it  did  not  seek  me, 
I  come  to  the  more  immediate  purpose  of 
this  Introduction,  and  which,  my  dearest 
Public,  if  I  do  not  reckon  too  much  on  the 
continuance  of  your  favour,  (though,  to  say 
truth,  consistency  and  uniformity  of  taste 
are  scarce  to  be  reckoned  upon  by  those  who 
court  your  good  graces,)  may  perhaps  go 
far  to  make  me  amends  for  the  loss  and  da- 
mage I  have  sustained  by  bringing  aunt 
Dorothy  to  the  country  of  thick  calves, 
slender  ancles,  black  moustaches,  bodiless 


V1ii  INTRODUCTION'. 

linibs,  (I  assure  you  the  fellow  is,  as  my 

friend  Lord  L said,  a  complete  giblet- 

pie,  all  legs  and  wings,)  and  fine  sentiments. 
If  she  had  taken  from  the  half -pay  list  a 
ranting  Highlaudman,  ay,  or  a  dashing  son 
of  green  Erin,  I  would  never  have  mention- 
ed the  subject :  but  as  the  affair  has  hap- 
pened, it  is  scarce  possible  not  to  resent  such 
a  gratuitous  plundering  of  her  own  lawful 
heirs  and  executors.  But  "  be  hushed  my 
dark  spirit,"  and  let  us  invite  our  dear  Pub- 
lic to  a  more  pleasing  theme  to  us,  a  more 
interesting  one  to  others. 

By  dint  of  drinking  acid  tiff,  as  above 
mentioned,  and  smoking  segars,  in  which  I 
am  no  novice,  my  Public  are  to  be  inform- 
ed, that  I  gradually  drank  and  smoked  my- 
self into  a  certain  degree  of  acquaintance 
with  un  homme  comme  il  faut,  one  of  the 
few  fine  old  specimens  of  nobility  who  are 
still  to  be  found  in  France;  who,  like  mu- 
tilated statutes  of  an  antiquated  and  obso- 
lete worship,  still  command  a  certain  portion 
of  awe  and  estimation  in  the  eyes  even  of 
those  by  whom  neither  one  nor  other  were 
voluntarily  rendered. 

On  visiting  the  coffee-house  of  the  village, 
I  was,  at  first  struck  with  the  singular  dig- 
nity and  gravity  of  this  gentleman's  man- 
ners, his  sedulous  attachment  to  shoes  and 
stockings,  in  contempt  of  half-boots  and 
pantaloons,  the  croix  de  Saint  Louis  at  his 
button-hole,  and  a  small  white  cockade  in 
the  loop  of  his  old-fashioned  schaker.  There 


INTRODUCTION.  ix 

was  something  interesting  in  his  whole  ap- 
pearance ;  and  besides,  his  gravity  among 
the  lively  groupe  around  him,  seemed,  like 
the  shade  of  a  tree  in  the  glare  of  a  sunny 
landscape,  more  interesting  from  its  rarity. 
I  made  such  advances  towards  acquaintance 
as  the  circumstances  of  the  place,  and  the 
manners  of  the  country,  authorised — that  is 
to  say,  I  drew  near  him,  smoked  my  segar 
by  calm  and  intermitted  puffs,  which  were 
scarcely  visible,  and  asked  him  those  few 
questions  which  good  breeding  every  where, 
but  more  especially  in  France,  permits  stran- 
gers to  put,  without  hazarding  the  imputa- 
tion of  impertinence.  The  Marquis  de 
Hautlieu,  for  such  was  his  rank,  was  as  short 
and  sententious  as  French  politeness  per- 
mitted— he  answered  every  question,  but 
proposed  nothing,  and  encouraged  no  farther 
inquiry. 

The  truth  was,  that,  not  very  accessible 
to  foreigners  of  any  nation,  or  even  to  stran- 
gers among  his  own  countrymen,  the  Mar- 
quis was  peculiarly  shy  towards  the  English. 
A  remnant  of  ancient  national  prejudice 
might  dictate  this  feeling ;  or  it  might  arise 
from  his  idea  that  they  are  a  haughty,  purse- 
proud  people,  to  whom  rank,  united  with 
straitened  circumstances,  affords  as  much 
a  subject  for  scorn  as  for  pity  ;  or,  finally, 
when  he  reflected  on  certain  recent  events, 
he  might  per  haps  feel  mortified,  a*  »  French 
man,  even  for  those  successes  which  had  re- 
stored his  master  to  the  throne,  and  himself 


S  INTRODUCTION'. 

to  a  diminished  property  and  dilapidated 
chateau.  His  dislike,  however,  ne-er  as- 
sumed a  more  active  form,  than  that  of  alien- 
ation from  English  society.  When  the  af- 
fairs of  strangers  required  the  interposition 
of  his  influence  in  their  behalf,  it  was  uni- 
formly granted  with  the  courtesy  of  a  French 
gentleman,  who  knew  what  is  due  to  himself 
and  to  national  hospitality. 

At  length,  by  some  chance,  the  Marquis 
made  the  discovery,  that  the  new  frequenter 
of  his  ordinary  was  a  native  of  Scotland,  a 
circumstance  which  told  mightily  in  my  fa- 
vour. Some  of  his  own  ancestors,  he  informed 
me,  had  been  of  Scottish  origin,  and  he  be- 
lieved his  house  had  still  some  relations  in 
what  he  was  pleased  to  call  the  province  of 
Hanguisse,  in  that  country.     The  connec- 
tion  had   been  acknowledged  early  in  the 
last  century  on  both  sides,  and  he  had  once 
almost  determined,  during  his  exile,  (for  it 
may  be    supposed    that    the    marquis    had 
joined  the  ranks  of  Conde,  and  shared  all 
the  misfortunes  and  distresses  of  emigra- 
tion,) to  claim  the  acquaintance  and  protec- 
tion of  his  Scottish  friends.     But  after  all, 
he  said,  he  cared  not  to  present  himself  be- 
fore them  in  circumstances  which  could  do 
them  but  small  credit,  and  which  they  might 
think  entailed  some  little  burthen,  perhaps 
even  some  little  disgrace;  so  that  he  thought 
it  beet  to  trust  in  Providence,  and  do  the 
best  he  could  for  his  own  support.     What 
that  was  I  never  could  learu;  but  1  am  sure  it 


INTRODUCTION.  %\ 

inferred  nothing  which  could  be  discredit- 
able to  the  excellent  old  man,  who  held  fast 
his  opinions  and   his  loyalty  through  good 
and    bad    repute,    till    time  restored    him, 
aged,  indigent,  and  broken-spirited,  to  the 
country,  which  he  had  left  in  the  prime  of 
youth  and  health,  and  in  a  tone  of  high  re- 
sentment, which  promised  speedy  vengeance 
upon    those  who   expelled  him.     I    might 
have  laughed  at  some  points  of  the  Mar- 
quis's character,  at  his  prejudices,  particu- 
larly, both   of  birth  and  politics,  if  I  had 
known  him  under  more  prosperous  circum- 
stances ;   but,   situated   as  he   was,  even  if 
they  had  not  been  fair  and  honest  prejudi- 
ces, turning  on  no  base  or  interested  motive, 
one  must  have  respected  him  as  we  respect 
the   confessor   or  the  martyr  of  a  religion, 
which  is  not  entirely  our  own. 

By  degrees  we  became  good  friends,  drank 
our  coffee,  smoked  our  segar,  and  took  our 
bavarois  together,  for  more  than  six  weeks, 
with  little  interruption  from  avocations  on 
either  side.     Having,  with  some  difficulty, 
got  the  key-note  of  his  inquiries  concerning 
Scotland,  by  a  fortunate  conjecture  that  the 
province  of  Hauguisse  could  only  be  our 
shire  of  Angus,  I  was  enabled  to  answer  the 
most  of  his  queries  concerning  his  allies  there 
in  a  manner  more  or  less  satisfactory,  and 
was  much    surprised    to  find  the  Marquis 
much  better  acquainted  with  the  genealogy 
of  some  of  the  distinguished  families  in  that 
county  than  I  could  possibly  have  expected. 


xii  INTRODUCTION. 

On  his  part,  bis  satisfaction  at  our  inter^ 
course  was  so  great,  that  he  at  length  wound 
himself  to  such  a  pitch  of  resolution,  as  to 
invite  me  to  dine  at  the  Chateau  de  Haut- 
lieu,  well  deserving  the  name,  as  occupying 
a  commanding  eminence  on  the  banks  of  the 
Loire.    This  building  lay  about  three  miles 
from  the  town  at  which  I  had  settled  my 
temporary  establishment ;   and  when  I  first 
beheld  it,  1  could  easily  forgive  the  morti- 
fied feelings  which  the  owner  testified,  at  re- 
ceiving a  guest  in  the  asylum  which  he  had 
formed  out  of  the  ruins  of  the  palace  of  his 
fathers.     He  gradually,  with  much  gaiety, 
whichyet  evidently  covered  a  deeper  feeling, 
prepared  me  for  the  sort  of  place  1  was  about 
to  visit;  and  for  this  he  had  full  opportu- 
nity whilst  he  drove  me  in  his  little  cabrio- 
let, drawn  by  a  large  heavy  Norman  horse, 
towards  the  ancient  building. 

Its  remains  run  along  a  beautiful  terrace 
overhanging  the  river  Loire,  which  had 
been  formerly  laid  out  with  a  succession 
of  flights  of  steps,  highly  ornamented  with 
statues,  rock-work,  and  other  artificial  em- 
bellishments, descending  from  one  terrace 
to  another,  until  the  very  verge  of  the  rive* 
was  attained.  All  this  architectural  de- 
coration, with  its  accompanying  parterres 
of  rich  flowers  and  exotic  shrubs,  had  many 
years  since  given  place  to  the  more  profit- 
able scene  of  the  vine  dresser's  labours;  yet 
the  remains,  too  massive  to  be  destroyed, 
are  still  visible,  and,  with  the  various  ar- 


INTRODUCTION".  Xlil 

titicial  slopes  and  levels  of  the  high  bank, 
hear  perfect  evidence  how  completely  Art 
had  been  here  employed  to  decorate  Nature. 

Fen  of  these  scenes  are  now  left  in  perfec- 
tion, for  the  fickleness  of  fashion  has  accom- 
plished in  England  the  total  change  which 
devastation  and  popular  fury  have  produced 
in  the  French  pleasure  grounds.  For  my 
part.  I  am  contented  to  subscribe  to  the  opi- 
nion of  the  best  qualified  judge  of  our  time.* 
who  thinks  we  have  carried  to  an  extreme 
our  taste  for  simplicity,  and  that  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  a  stately  mansion  requires  some 
more  ornate  embellishments  than  can  be 
derived  from  the  meagre  accompaniments 
of  giass  and  gravel.  A  highly  romantic  si- 
tuation may  be  degraded  perhaps  by  an  at- 
tempt at  such  artificial  ornaments  :  but  then, 
in  by  far  the  greater  number  of  sites,  the 
intervention  of  more  architeetoral  decoration 
than  is  now  in  use,  seems  necessary  to  re- 
deem the  naked  lameness  of  a  large  house 
placed  by  itself  in  the  midst  of  a  lawn,  where 
illooksasmu<-h  unconnected  with  all  around, 
as  if  it  had  walked  out  oi  'town  upon  an  airing. 

How  the  thS'e  came  tq  change  so  sud- 
denly and  absolutely,  is  ra'h*  r  a  singular 
circumstance,  unless  we  explain  it  on  the 
same  principle  on  which  I  lie  three  friends  of 
the  Father  in  Moliere's  comedy  recommend 
a  cure  for  the  melancholy  of  his  Dang-  ;<  r — 
that  he  should  furuish  her  apartments,  viz. 

*  Ser  Prie  's  t&ssa)  on  the  Pirturesque,  in  roan)  paswgea  ;  but 
I  would  particularism  in-  li-.un;t  >l  and  highly  |»o  ticsU  ceonnt 
which  h^  »'iv  s  >i  hi-.  )v\n  feelings  0:1  destroying  at  the  d  et*ie  of 
an  improver,  an  ancient  sequestered  garden,  with  its  jew  hedges, 
orname'ii-  d  iron  gates,  and  st-cludei!  wilderness. 

Vol.  I.— b 


xiv  INTRODUCTION', 

with  paintings,  with  tapestry,  of  with  eh  ma, 
according  to   the   different  commodities  in 
which  each  of  them  was  a  dealer.   Tried  hv 
this  scale,  we  may  perhaps  discover,  thai,  of 
old,  the  architect  laid  out  the  garden  and  the 
pleasure  grounds  in   the  neighbourhood  of 
the  mansion,  and  naturally  enough,  display- 
ed  his  own  art  there  in  statues  and  vases, 
and  paved  terraces  and  flights  of  steps,  with 
ornamented  balustrades;  while  the  garden- 
er, subordinate  in  rank,  endeavoured  to  make 
the   vegetable   kingdom   correspond    to  ihe 
prevailing  taste,  and  cut  his  ever-greens  into 
verdant  walls,  with  towers  and  battlements, 
and  his  detatclied    trees  into  a  resemblance 
of  statuary.     Rut  the  wheel  has  since  re- 
volved, so  as  to  place  the  landscape  garden- 
er, as  he  is  called,  upon  almost  a  level  with 
(lie  architect ;  and  hence  a  liberal  and  some- 
what violent  use  is  made  of  spade  and  pick- 
axe, and  a  converting   the   ostentatious  la- 
hours  of  the  architect  into   a  fevme  ornee, 
as  little  different  from  the  simplicity  of  Na- 
ture, as  displayed  in  the  surrounding  coun- 
try, as  the  comforts  of  convenient  and  clean, 
ly  walks,  imperiously  demanded  in  the  vici- 
nage of  a  gentleman's  residence,  can  possi 
bly  admit. 

To  return  from  this  digression,  which  has 
given  the  Marquis's  cabriolet  (its  activity 
greatly  retarded  by  the  downward  propen- 
sities of  Jean-Roast  beef,  which  I  suppose 
the  Norman  horse  cursed  as  heartily  as  his 
countrymen  of  old  time  execrated  the  stolid 
obaesityof  a  Saxon  slave,)  time  to  ascend  the 
hill    by  a  winding    causeway,  now    much 


INTRODUCTION.  XY 

broken,  we  came  in  sight  of  a  long  range 
of  roofless  buildings,  connected  with  the 
western  extremity  of  the  castle,  which  was 
totally  ruinous.  •'  I  should  apologise,"  he 
said,  "  to  you,  as  an  Englishman,  for  the 
taste  of  my  ancestors  in  connecting  that  row 
of  stables  with  the  architecture  of  the  cha- 
teau. I  know  in  your  country  it  is  usual 
to  remove  them  to  some  distance;  but  my 
family  had  a  hereditary  pride  in  horses,  and 
were  fond  of  visitiug  them  more  frequently 
than  would  have  been  convenient  if  they  had 
been  kept  at  a  greater  distance.  Before  the 
Revolution,  I  had  thirty  fine  horses  in  that 
ruinous  line  of  buildings." 

This  recollection  of  past  magnificence 
escaped  from  him  accidentally,  for  he  was 
generally  sparing  in  alluding  to  his  former 
opulence.  It  was  quietly  said,  without  any 
affectation  either  of  the  importance  attach- 
ed to  early  wealth,  or  as  demanding  sympa- 
thy for  its  having  past  away.  It  awaken- 
ed unpleasing  reflections,  however,  and  we 
were  both  silent,  till,  from  a  partially  re- 
paired corner  of  what  had  been  a  porter's 
lodge,  a  lively  French  jjaysan ne*  with  eyes 
as  black  as  jet,  and  as  brilliant  as  diamonds, 
came  out  with  a  smile,  which  shewed  a  set 
of  teeth  that  duchesses  might  have  envied, 
and  took  the  reins  of  the  little  carriage. 

"  Madelon  must  be  groom  to-day,"  said 
the  Marquis,  after  graciously  nodding  in  re- 
turn for  her  deep  reverence  to  Monseigneur, 
•'<  for  her  husband  is  gone  to  market ;  and 
for  La  Jeunesse,  he  is  almost  distracted  with 
his  various  occupations.   Madelon,"  he  con- 


xvj  kXTRODUCTlOX. 

ttnued,  as  we  walked  forward  under  the  en- 
trance arch,  now  tied  with  the  mutilated  ar- 
morial hearings  of  former  lords,  now  half- 
obscured  hy  moss  and  rye-grass,  not  to  men- 
tion the  vagrant  branches  of  some  unpruned 
shrubs, — *«  Mad  el  no,"  he  continued,  "  was 
my  wife  s  god -daughter,  and  was  educated 
to  be  fiile-de-chambre  to  my  daughter.*' 

This  little  passing  intimation,  that  he  was 
a  widowed  husband  and  childless  father,  in- 
creased my  respect  for  the  unfortunate  gen- 
tleman, to  whom  every  particular  attached 
to  his  present  situation  brought  doubtless 
its  owu  share  of  food  for  melancholy  reflec- 
tion. He  proceeded,  after  the  pause  of  an 
instant,  with  something  of  a  gayer  tone. — 
"You  will  be  entertained  with  my  poor 
La  Jeunesse,"  he  said,  "  who,  by  the  way, 
is  ten  years  older  than  I  am — (the  Marquis 
is  above  sixty) — he  reminds  me  of  the  player 
in  the  Roman  Comique,  who  acted  a  whole 
play  in  his  own  proper  person — he  insists  on 
being  maitre  dhotel,  maitre  de  cuisine,  va- 
let-de  chambre,  a  whole  suite  of  attendants 
in  his  own  poor  individuality.  He  sometimes 
reminds  me  of  a  character  in  the  Bridle  of 
Lammermore,  Which  you  must  have  read,  as 
it  is  the  work  of  one  of  your  gens  de  lettres, 
quon  ajjpellent.je  crois,  le  Chevalier  Scutt.'' 

(61  presume  you  mean  Sir  Walter?'' 

"Yes — the  same — the  same,"  said  the 
Marquis;  "I  always  forget  names  which 
commence  avec  cette  lettres  impossible." 

We  were  now  led  away  from  more  pain- 
ful recollections  ;  for  I  had  to  put  my  French 
"^end  right  in  two  particulars.    In  the  first 


INTRODUCTION.  Xvii 

I  prevailed  with  difficulty  ;  for  the  Marquis, 
though  he  disliked  the  English,  yet  having 
been  three  months  in  London,  piqued  him- 
self in  understanding  the  most  intricate  dif- 
ficulties of  our  language,  and  appealed  to 
every  dictionary,  from  Florio  downwards, 
that  la  Bride  must  raeau  the  Bridle.  Nay, 
so  sceptical  was  he  on  this  point  of  philolo- 
gy, when  I  ventured  to  hint  that  there  was 
nothing  about  a  bridle  iu  the  whole  story, 
he,  with  great  composure,  and  little  know- 
ing to  whom  he  spoke,  laid  the  whole  blame 
of  that  inconsistency  on  the  unfortunate  au- 
thor. I  had  next  the  common  candour  to 
inform  my  friend,  upon  grounds  which  no 
one  could  know  so  well  as  myself,  that  my 
distinguished  literary  countryman,  of  whom 
I  will  always  speak  with  the  respect  his  ta- 
lents deserve,  was  not  responsible  for  the 
slight  works  which  the  humour  of  the  pub- 
lic had  too  generously,  as  well  as  too  rashly. 
ascribed  to  him.  Surprised  by  the  impulse 
of  the  moment,  I  might  even  have  gone  fur- 
ther, and  clenched  the  negative  by  positive 
evidence,  owning  to  my  entertainer  that 
no  one  else  could  possibly  have  written  these 
works,  since  I  myself  was  the  author,  when 
I  was  saved  from  so  rash  a  commitment  of 
myself  by  the  calm  reply  of  the  Marquis 
that  he  was  glad  to  hear  these  sort  of  trifles 
were  not  written  by  a  person  of  condition. 
"  We  read  them,*'  he  said,  "  as  we  listen  to 
the  pleasantries  of  a  comedian,  or  our  ances- 
tors tothoseofa  professed  family  jester,  with 
a  good  deal  of  amusement,  which,  however, 

M 


xviii  INTRODUCTION. 

we  should  be  sorry  to  derive  from  the  mouth 
of  one  who  has  better  claims  to  our  society. " 

I  was  completely  recalled  to  my  constitu- 
tional caution  by  this  declaration  ;  and  be- 
came so  much  afraid  of  committing  myself, 
that  I  did  not  even  venture  to  explain  to  my 
aristrocratic  friend,  that  the  gentleman  whom 
he  had  named  owed  his  advancement,  for 
aught  I  had  ever  heard,  to  certain  works  of 
his,  which  may,  without  injury,  be  compared 
to  romances  in  rhyme. 

The  truth  is,  that,  amongst  some  other 
unjust  prejudices,  at  which  I  have  already 
hinted,  the  Marquis  had  contracted  a  horror, 
mingled  with  contempt,  for  almost  every  spe- 
cies of  author-craft,  slighter  than  that  which 
compounds  a  folio  volume  of  law  or  of  divin- 
ity, and  looked  upon  the  author  of  a  romance, 
novel,  fugitive  poem,  or  periodical  piece  of 
criticism,  as  men  do  on  a  venemous  reptile, 
with  fear  at  once  and  with  loathing.  The 
abuse  of  the  press,  he  contended,  especially 
in  its  lighter  departments,  had  poisoned  the 
whole  morality  of  Europe,  and  was  gradually 
once  more  regaining  an  influence  which  had 
been  silenced  amidst  the  voice  of  war.  All 
writers,  except  those  of  the  largest  and  hea- 
viest calibre,  he  conceived  to  be  devoted  to 
this  evil  cause,  from  Rosseau  and  Voltaire 
down  to  Pigault  le  Brun  and  the  author  of 
the  Scotch  novels;  and  although  he  admit- 
ted he  read  them  pour  passer  le  temps,  yet, 
like  Pistol  eating  his  leek,  it  was  not  with- 
out execrating  the  tendency,  as  he  devoured 
the  story,  of  the  work  with  which  he  was 
engaged. 


INTRODUCTION.  ^x 

Observing  this  peculiarity,  I  backed  out 
of  the  candid  confession  which  my  vanity 
had  meditated,  and  engaged  the  Marquis  in 
farther  remarks  on  the  mansion  of  his  ances- 
tors. "There,"  he  said,  «  was  the  theatre 
where  my  father  used  to  procure  an  order 
for  the  special  attendance  of  some  of  the  prin- 
cipal actors  of  the  ConiedieFraugoise,  when 
the  King  and  Madame  Pompadour  more  than 
once  visited  him  at  this  place; — yonder,  more 
to  the  centre,  was  the  Baron's  hall,  where 
his  feudal  jurisdiction  was  exercised  when 
criminals  were  to  be  tried  by  the  Seigneur 
or  his  bailif:  for  we  had,  like  your  old  Scotch 
nobles,  the  right  of  pit  and  gallows,  or  fossa 
cum  f urea,  as  the  civilians  term  it; — beneath 
that  lies  the  Question-chamber,  or  apartment 
for  torture  :  and,  truly,  I  am  sorry  a  right 
so  liable  to  abuse  should  have  been  lodged 
in  the  hands  of  any  living  creature.  But," 
lie  added,  with  a  feeling  of  dignity  derived 
even  from  the  atrocities  which  his  ancestors 
had  committed  beneath  the  grated  windows 
to  which  Ire  pointed,  "such  is  the  effect  of 
superstition,  that  to  this  day,  the  peasants 
dare  not  approach  the  dungeons,  in  which, 
it  is  said,  the  wrath  of  my  ancestors  had  per- 
petrated, in  former  time,  much  cruelty.'' 

As  we  approached  the  window,  while  I 
expressed  some  curiosity  to  see  this  abode 
of  terror,  there  rose  from  its  subterranean 
abyss  a  shrill  shout  of  laughter,  which  we 
easily  detected  as  produced  by  a  groupe  of 
playful  children,  who  had  made  the  neglet- 
ed  vaults  a  theatre,  for  a  joyous  romp  at 
Collin  Maillard. 


XX  INTRODUCTION. 

The  Marquis  was  somewhat  disappointed, 
and  had  recourse  to  his  tabatiere  ;  but,  re- 
covering in  a  moment,  observed  these  were 
Madelon's  children,  and  familiar  with  the 
supposed  terrors  of  the  subterranean  recesses. 
"  Besides,7'  he  added,  "  to  speak  the  truth, 
these  poor  children  have  been  boru  after 
the  period  of  supposed  illumination,  which 
dispelled  our  superstition  and  our  religion 
at  onee  ;  and  this  bids  me  to  remind  you, 
that  it  is  a  jour  maigre.  The  Cure  of  the 
parish  is  my  only  guest,  besides  yourself, 
and  I  would  not  voluntarily  offend  his  opi- 
nions. Besides,"  he  continued,  more  man- 
fully, and  throwing  off  his  restraiut,  ••ad- 
versity has  taught  me  other  thoughts  on 
these  subjects  than  those  which  prosperity 
dictated  ;  and  I  thank  God  1  am  not  asha- 
med to  avow,  that  I  follow  the  observances 
of  my  church." 

I  hastened  to  answer,  that,  though  they 
might  differ  from  those  of  my  own,  1  hail 
every  possible  re-pect  for  the  religious  rules 
of  every  Chritian  community,  sensible  that 
we  adu*res^d  the  same  Deity,  on  the  same 
grand  principle  of  salvation,  though  with  dif- 
ferent forms;  which  variety  of  worship,  had 
it  plea>ed  the  Almighty  not  to  permit,  our 
observances  would  have  been  as  distinctly 
prescribed  to  us  as  they  are  laid  down  un- 
der the  Mosaic  law. 

The  Marquis  was  no  shaker  of  hands, 
but  upon  the  p  esent  occasion  he  grasped 
mine,  and  shook  it  kindly — the  only  mode 
of  a(  quiescence  in  my  sentiments  which  per- 
haps   a  zealous  Catholic  could,  or  ought, 


INTRODUCTION.  xxi 

consistently   to    have   given    upon  such   an 
occasion. 

This  circumstance  of  explanation  and  re- 
mark, with  others  which  arose  out  of  the 
view  of  the  extensive  ruins,  occupied  us  du- 
ring two  or  three  turns  upou  the  long  ter- 
race, and  a  seat  of  about  a  quarter  of  an 
hour's  endurance  in  a  vaulted  pavilion  of 
freestone,  decorated  with  the  Marquis's  ar- 
morial bearings,  the  roof  of  which,  though 
disjointed  in  some  of  its  groind-arches,  was 
still  solid  and  entire.  "  Here,"  said  he,  re- 
suming the  tone  of  a  former  part  of  his  con- 
versation, "  I  love  to  sit  either  at  noon,  when 
the  alcove  affords  me  shelter  from  the  heat, 
or  in  the  evening,  when  the  sun's  beams  are 
dying  on  the  broad  face  of  the  Loire — here, 
in  the  words  of  your  great  poet,  whom, 
Frenchman  as  I  am,  I  am  more  intimately 
acquainted  with  than  most  Englishmen,  I 
love  to  rest  myself, 

Shewing  the  code  of  sweet  and  bitter  fancy." 

Against  this  various  reading  of  a  well- 
known  passage  in  Shakespeare  I  took  care 
to  offer  no  protest;  for  I  suspect  Shake- 
speare would  have  suffered  in  the  opinion  of 
so  delicate  a  judge  as  the  Marquis,  had  I 
proved  his  having  written  "chewing  the 
cud,"  according  to  all  other  authorities.  Be- 
sides I  had  had  enough  of  our  former  dispute, 
having  been  long  convinced  (though  not  till 
ten  years  after  I  left  Edinburgh  College,) 
that  the  pith  of  conversation  does  not  con^ 
sist  in  exhibiting  your  own  superior  know- 
ledge on  matters  of  small  consequence,  but 


xxii  INTRODUCTION. 

in  enlarging,  improving,  and  correcting  tlie 
information  you  possess,  by  the  authority  of 
others.     I  therefore  let  the  Marquis  shew 
his  code  at  his  pleasure,  and  was  rewarded  by 
hi*  entering  into  a  learned  and  well-inform- 
ed disquisition  on  the  florid   style  of  archi- 
tecture  introduced  into   France  during  the 
seventeenth    century.     He   pointed   out  its 
merits  and  its  defects  with  considerable  taste; 
and  having  touched  on  topics  similar  to  those 
which  I  have  formerly  digressed   upon,  he 
made  an  appeal  of  a  different  kind  in  their 
favour,  founded  upon  the  associations  with 
which  they  were  combined.     "  Who,"  he 
said,  "would  willingly  destroy  the  terraces 
of  the  Chateau  of  Sully,  since  we   cannot 
tread  them  without  recalling  the  image  of 
that  statesman,  alike  distinguished  for  se- 
vere integrity  and  for  strong  and  unerring 
sagacity  of  mind  ?    Were  they  an  inch  less 
broad,  a  ton's  weight  less  massive,  or  were 
they  deprived    of   their    formality    by    the 
slightest  inflexions,  could  we  suppose  them 
to  remain  the  scene  of  his  patriotic  musings? 
Would  an  ordinary  root-house  be  a  fit  scene 
for  the   Duke  occupying  an  arm-chair,  and 
his    Duchess     a    tabouret — teaching    from 
thence  lessons  of  courage  and  fidelity  to  his 
sons, — of  modesty   and   submission   to    his 
daughters, — of  rigid  morality  to  both  ;  while 
the  circle   of  young  noblesse  listened  with 
ears  attentive,  and  eyes  modestly  fixed  on 
the  ground,  in   a  standing  posture,  neither 
replying  nor  sitting  down,  without  the  ex- 
press command  of  their  prince  and  parent? 
— No,  Monsieur,"  he  said,  with  enthusiasm) 


INTRODUCTION  -s^ii 

"  destroy  the  princely  pavilion  in  which  this 
edifying  family-scene  was  represented,  and 
you  remove  from  the  mind  the  vraisemblance, 
the  veracity  of  the  whole  representation.  Or 
can  your  mind  suppose  this  distinguised  peer 
and  patriot  walking  in  a  jardin  AngloiseP 
Why  you  might  as  well  fancy  him  dressed 
with  a  blue  froc  and  white  waistcoat',  instead 
of  his    Henri   Quatre  coat  and  chape au  a- 
plumes — Consider  how  he  could  have  moved 
in  the  tortuous  maze  of  what  you  have  call- 
ed a.  ferine  or  nee,  with  his  usual  attendants 
of  two  files  of  Swiss  guards  preceding,  and 
the  same  number  following  him.     To  recal 
his  figure,  with  his  beard — haut-des-chaus- 
ses   a  canon,  united  to  his  doublet  by  ten 
thousand  aiguilettes  and  knots   of  riband, 
you  could   not,  supposing  him  in  a  modern 
jardin  Angloise,   distinguish   the  picture  in 
your  imagination,  from  the  sketch  of  some 
mad  old  man,  who  has  adopted  the  humour 
of  dressing  like  his  great-great  grandfather, 
and  whom  a  party  of  gens -d -amies  was  con- 
ducting to  the  Mai  son  des  Fous.     But  look 
on  the  long  and  magnificent  terrace,  if  it  yet 
exists,  which  the  loyal  and  exalted  Sully  was 
wont  to  make  the  scene  of  his  solitary  walk 
twice  a-day,  while  he  pondered  over  the  pa- 
triotic schemes  which  he  nourished  for  ad- 
vancing the  glory  of  France  ;  or,  at  a  later, 
and  more  sorrowful  period  of  life,  brooded 
over  the  memory  of  his   murdered  master, 
and  the  fate  of  his  distracted  country:— throw 
into  that  noble  back-ground  of  arcades,  va- 
ses, images,  urns,  and  whatever  could  ex- 
press the  vicinity  of  a  ducal  palace,  and  the 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION 

landscape  becomes  consistent  at  once.    The 
factionaires.  with  their  harquehusses  ported, 
placed  at  the  extremities  of  the  long  and  le- 
vel walk,  intimate  the   presence  of  the  fen- 
dal  prince;  while  the  same   is  more  clearly 
shewn  by  the  guard  of  honour   which  pre- 
cede and  follow  him,  their  halberts  carried 
upright,  their  mien  martial  and   stately,  as 
if  in  the  presence  of  an  enemy,  yet  moved, 
as  i(  were,  with  the  same  soul  as  their  prince- 
ly superior — teaching  their  steps   to  attend 
upon  his,  marching  as  he  marches,   halting 
as  he  halts,  accommodating  their  pace  even 
to  the  slight  irregularities  of  pause  and  ad- 
vance dictated  by  the  fluctuations  of  his  re- 
verie, and  wheeling  with  military  precision 
before  and  behind  him,  who  seems  the  cen- 
tre and  animating   principle  of  Iheir  armed 
files,  as  the  heart  gives  life   and   energy  to 
the  human  bod}'.    Or,  if  you  smile,"  added 
the  Marquis,  looking  doubtfully  on  my  coun- 
tenance,  "  at   a   promenade  so  inconsistent 
With  the  light  freedom  of  modern  manners, 
could  you  bring  your  mind  to  demolish  that 
other  terrace,  trode  by  the  fascinating  Mar- 
chioness de  Sevigne,  with  which  are  united 
so  many  recollections  connected  with  passa- 
ges in  her  enchanting  letters?" 

A  little  tired  of  this  disquisition,  which 
the  Marquis  certainly  dwelt  upon  to  exalt 
the  natural  beauties  of  his  own  terrace  which, 
dilapidated  as  it  was,  required  no  such  for- 
mal recommendation,  I  informed  my  friend, 
that  I  had  just  received  from  England  a 
journal  of  a  tour  made  in  the  south  of  France 
by  a  young  Oxonian  friend  of  mine,  a  poet, 


INTRODUCTION.  xsv 

a  draughtsman,  and  a  scholar, — in  which  he 
gives  such  an  animated  and  interesting  de- 
scription of  the  Chateau-Grignan,  the  dwell- 
ing of  Madame  de  Sevigne's  beloved  daugh- 
ter, and  frequently  the  place  of  her  own  resi- 
dence, that  no  one  wlid  ever  read  the  hook 
would  be  within  forty  miles  of  the  same, 
without  going  a  pilgrimage  to  the  spot.  The 
Marquis  smiled,  seemed  very  much  pleased, 
and  asked  the  title  at  length  of  the  work  in 
question;  and  writing  down  to  my  dictation, 
•;  An  Itinerary  of  Provence  and  the  Rhone, 
made  during  the  year  1819;  by  John  Hughes, 
A.  M..  of  Oriel  College,  Oxford," — observ- 
ed, he  could  now  purchase  no  books  for  the 
chateau,  hut  would  recommend  that  the  Iti- 
neraire  should  be  commissioned  for  ilie  li- 
brary to  which  he  was  abotine  in  the  neigh- 
bouring town.  "  And  here/'  he  said,  *'  comes 
the  Cure,  to  save  us  farther  disquisition  ; 
and  I  see  La  Jeunesse  gliding  round  the 
old  portico  ou  the  terrace,  with  the  purpose 
of  ringing  the  dinner  bell — a  most  unneces- 
sary ceremony  for  assembling  three  persons, 
but  which  it  would  break  the  old  man's  heart 
to  forego.  Take  no  notice  of  him  at  present, 
as  he  wishes  to  perform  the  duties  of  the  in- 
ferior departments  incognito  -when  the  bell 
has  ceased  to  sound,  lie  will  blaze  forth  on 
us  in  the  character  of  major-domo." 

As  the  Marquis  spoke,  we  were  advauced 
towards  the  eastern  extremity  of  theJpha- 
teau,  which  was  the  only  part  of  the  euitice 
that  remained  still  habitable. 

"  The  Bande  JV'oire,"  s^id  the  Marquis, 
<•'  when  they  pulled  the  rest  of  the  house  to 

Vol.  I c 


xxvi  INTRODUCTION. 

pieces,  for  the  sake  of  the  lead,  timber,  and 
other  materials,  have,  in  (heir  ravages,  done 
me  the  undesigned  favour  to  reduce  it  to  di- 
mensions better  fitting  the  circumstances  of 
the  owner.  There  is  enough  of  the  leaf  left 
for  the  caterpillar  to  coil  up  his  chrysalis  in, 
and  what  needs  he  care  what  reptiles  have 
devoured  the  rest  of  the  bush  ?" 

As  he  spoke  thus,  we  reached  the  door,  at- 
which  La  Jeuuesse  appeared,  with  an  air  at 
once  of  prompt  service  and  deep  respect,  and- 
a  countenance,  which,  though  puckered  by  a 
thousand  wrinkles,  was  ready  to  answer  the 
first  good-natured  word  of  his  master  with 
a  smile,  which  shewed  his  white  set  of  teeth 
firm  and  fair,  in  despite  of  age  and  suffer- 
ing. His  clean  silk  stockings,  washed  till 
their  tint  had  become  yellowish — his  cue 
tied  with  a  rosette — the  thin  grey  curl  on 
either  side  of  his  lank  cheek— the  pearl- 
coloured  coat,  without  a  collar — the  soli- 
taire, the  jabot,  the  ruffles  at  the  wrist, 
and  the  chapeau-bras — all  announced  that 
La  Jeunesse  considered  the  arrival  of  a 
guest  at  the  Chateau  as  an  unusual  event, 
which  was  to  he  met  with  a  corresponding 
display  of  magnificence  and  parade  on  tiis 
part. 

As  I  looked  at  the  faithful  though  fan- 
tastic follow  er  of  his  master,  who  doubtless 
inherited  his  prejudices  as  well  as  his  cast- 
clothes,  I  could  not  hut  own,  in  my  own 
mind;  the  resemblance  pointed  out  by  the 
Marquis  betwixt  him  and  my  own  Caleb, 
the  trusty  squire  of  the  Master  of  Ravens- 
wood.     But  a  Frenchman,  a  Jack-of-all- 


INTRODUCTION.  xxvii 

trades  by  nature,  can,  with  much  more 
ease  and  supleness,  address  himself  to  a 
variety  of  services,  and  suffice  in  his  own 
person  to  discharge  them  all,  than  is  possi- 
ble for  the  formality  and  slowness  of  a 
Scotchman.  Superior  to  Caleb  in  dexterity, 
though  not  in  zeal,  La  Jeunesse  seemed  to 
multiply  himself  with  the  necessities  of  the 
occasion,  and  discharged  his  several  tasks 
with  such  promptitude  and  assiduity,  that 
farther  attendance  than  his  was  neither  miss- 
ed nor  wished  for. 

The  dinner,  in  particular^  was  exquisite. 
The  soup,  although  bearing  the  term  of 
maigre,  which  Englishmen  use  in  scorn, 
was  most  delicately  flavoured,  and  the  ma- 
telot  of  pike  and  eels  reconciled  me,  though 
a  Scotchman,  to  the  latter.  There  was  even 
a  petit  plat  of  bouilli  for  the  heretic,  so  ex- 
quisitely dressed  as  to  retain  all  the  juices, 
and  at  the  same  time,  rendered  so  tho- 
roughly tender,  that  nothing  eould  be  more 
delicate.  The  potage,  with  another  small 
dish  or  two,  were  equally  well  arranged. 
But  what  the  old  maitre  d'hotel  valued 
himself  upon  as  something  superb,  smiling 
with  self-satisfaction,  and  in  enjoyment  of 
ray  surprise,  as  he  placed  it  on  the  table, 
was  an  immense  assiette  of  spinage,  not 
smoothed  into  a  uniform  surface  as  by  our 
uninaugurated  cooks  upon  your  side  of  the 
water,  but  swelling  into  hills,  and  declining 
into  vales,  over  which  swept  a  galla^J  stag, 
pursued  by  a  pack  of  hounds  in  full  cry,  and 
a  noble  field  of  horsemen  with  bugle  horns, 
and   whips    held  upright,  and  brandished 


xxviii  INTRODUCTION. 

after  the  manner  of  broadswords — -hounds, 
huntsman,  and  stag,  being  all  very  artifi- 
cially cut  out  of  toasted  bread.  Enjoying 
the  praises  which  T  failed  not  to  bestow 
on  this  chef  d'ceuvre,  the  old  man  acknow- 
ledged it  had  cost  the  best  part  of  two  days 
to  bring  it  to  perfection  ;  and  added,  giving 
honour  where  honour  was  due,  that  an  idea 
so  brilliant  was  not  entirely  his  own,  but 
that  Monseigneur  himself  had  taken  the 
trouble  to  give  him  several  valuable  hints, 
and  even  condescended  to  assist  in  the  exe- 
cution of  some  of  the  most  capital  figures. 
The  Marquis  blushed  a  little  at  this  eclair- 
cissement,  which  lie  might  probably  have 
wished  to  suppress,  but  acknowledged  he 
had  wished  to  surprise  rae  with  a  scene  from 
the  popular  poem  of  my  country,  Miladi 
Lac.  I  answered,  that  so  splendid  a  cortege 
much  more  resembled  a  grand  chasse  of  Louis 
Quartorze  than  of  a  poor  King  of  Scotland, 
and  that  the  paysage  was  rather  like  Fon- 
tainbleau  than  the  wilds  of  Callender.  He 
bowed  graciously  in  answer  to  this  compli- 
ment, and  acknowledged  that  recollections 
of  }he  costume  of  the  old  French  court, 
when  in  its  splendour,  might  have  misled 
his  imagination — and  so  the  conversation 
passed  on  to  other  matters. 

Our  dessert  was  exquisite — the  cheese, 
the  fruits,  the  sallad,  the  olives,  the  cer- 
naux,  and  the  delicious  white  wine,  each  in 
their  ygpy  were  inrpayable& ;  and  the  good 
Marquis,  with  an  air  of  great  satisfaction, 
observed,  that  his  guest  did  sincere  homage 
to  their  merits.    "  After  all,"  he  said,  "  and 


INTRODUCTION.  XX1X 

yet  it  is  but  confessing  a  foolish  weakness — 
but,  after  all,  I  cannot  but  rejoice  in  feeling 
myself  equal  to  offering  a  stranger  a  sort  of 
hospitality  which  seems  pleasing  to  him. 
Believe  me,  it  is  not  entirely  out  of  pride 
that  w^jpauvrcs  revenants  live  so  very  retir- 
ed, and  avoid  the  duties  of  hospitality.  It  is 
true,  that  too  many  of  us  wander  about  the 
halls  of  our  fathers,  rather  like  ghosts  of 
their  deceased  proprietors,  than  like  living 
men  restored  to  their  own  possessions — yet 
it  is  rather  on  your  account,  than  to  spare 
our  own  feelings,  that  we  do  not  cultivate 
the  society  of  our  foreign  visitors.  We  have 
an  idea  that  your  opulent  nation  is  parti- 
cularly attached  to  faste,  and  to  grande 
chere — to  your  ease  and  enjoyment  of  every 
kind  ;  and  the  means  of  entertainment  left 
to  us  are,  in  most  cases,  so  limited,  that  we 
feel  ourselves  totally  precluded  from  such 
expense  and  ostentation.  No  one  wishes  to 
offer  his  best  where  he  has  reason  to  think 
it  will  not  give  pleasure;  and,  as  many  of 
you  publish  your  journals,  Monsieur  le  Mar- 
quis would  not  probably  be  much  gratified, 
by  seeing  the  poor  dinner  which  he  was  able 
to  present  to  Milord  Anglois  put  upon  per- 
manent record." 

1  -interrupted  the  Marquis,  that  were  I 
to  wish  an  account  of  my  entertainment 
published,  it  would  be  only  in  order  to  pre- 
serve the  memory  of  the  very  best  dinuer  I 
ever  had  eaten  in  my  life.  He  bowed  in 
return,  and  presumed  "  that  I  either  differ- 
ed much  from  the  national  taste,  or  the  ae- 
c  t 


\xx  INTRODUCTION. 

counts  of  it  were  greatly  exaggerated.  He 
was  particularly  obliged  to  me  for  shewing 
the  value  of  the  possessions  which  remain- 
ed to  him.  The  useful,"  he  said,  "  had  no 
doubt  survived  the  sumptuous  at  Hautlieu 
as  elsewhere.  Grottos,  statues,  curious  con- 
servatories of  exotics,  temple  and  tower,  had 
gone  to  the  ground  ;  but  the  vineyard,  the 
potager,  the  on  hard,  the  etang.  still  existed; 
and  once  more  he  expressed  himself  happy 
to  find,  that  their  combined  productions 
could  make  what  even  a  Briton  accepted  as 
a  tolerable  meal.  I  only  hope,"  he  con- 
tinued, "that  you  will  convince  me  your 
compliments  are  sincere,  by  accepting  the 
hospitality  of  the  Chateau  de  Hautlieu  as 
often  as  better  engagements  will  permit  du- 
ring your  stay  in  this  neighbourhood." 

1  readiljr  promised  to  accept  an  invitation 
offered  with  such  grace,  as  to  make  the  guest 
appear  the  person  conferring  the  obligation. 

The  conversation  then  changed  to  the 
history  of  the  chateau  and  its  vicinity — a 
subject  which  was  strong  ground  to  the 
,  Marquis,  though  he  was  no  great  antiquary, 
-and  even  no  very  profound  historian,  where 
these  topics  were  out  of  question.  The 
Cure,  however,  chanced  to  be  both,  and 
withal  a  very  conversible  pleasing  man,  with 
an  air  of  prevenance*  and  ready  civility  of 
communication,  which  I  have  found  a  lead- 
ing characteristic  of  the  Catholic  clergy, 
whenever  they  are  well-informed  or  other- 
wise. It  was  from  him  that  I  learned  there 
still  existed  the  remnant  of  a  fine  library  in 
the  Chateau  de  Hautlieu.     The  Marquis 


INTRODUCTION.  xxx: 


■ 


shrugged  his  shoulders  as  the  Cure  gave  me 
this  intimation,  talked  to  the  one  side  and 
the  other,  and  displayed  the  same  sort  of 
petty  embarrassment  which  he  had  been  un- 
ahle  to  suppress  when  La  Jeunesse  hlahbed 
something  of  his  interference  with  the  ar- 
rangements of  the  cuisine.  4«I  should  he  hap- 
py to  shew  the  books,"  he  said,  ••  but  they 
are  in  such  a  wild  condition,  so  dismantled 
that  I  am  ashamed  to  shew  them  to  any  one.*7 

"Forgive  me,  my  deaf  sir,"  said  the  Cure, 
"yrou  know  you  permitted  the  great  English 
Bibliomaniac,  Dr.  Dibdin,  to  consult  your 
curious  reliques,and  you  know  how  highly 
lie  spoke  of  them." 

M  What  could  I  do,  my  dear  friend,"  said 
the  Marquis ;  f«  the  good  Doctor  had  heard 
some  exaggerated  account  of  these  remnants 
of  what  \\a«  once  a  library — hejliad  station- 
ed himself  in  the  auherge  below,  determined 
to  carry  his  point  or  die  under  the  walls.  I 
even  heard  of  his  taking  the  altitude  of  the 
turret,  in  order  to  provide  scaling-ladders. 
You  would  not  have  had  me  reduce  a  re- 
spectable divine,  though  of  another  church, 
to  such  an  act  of  desperation  ?  1  could  not 
have  answered  it  in  conscience." 

"  But  you  know,  besides,  Monsieur  le 
Marquis,"  continued  the  Curt,  4«  that  Dr. 
Dibdin  was  so  much  grieved  at  the  dilapi- 
dation your  library  had  sustained,  that  he 
avowedly  envied  the  powers  of  our  church, 
so  much  did  he  long  to  launch  an  anathema 
at  the  heads  of  the  perpetrators." 

"  His  resentment  was  in  proportion  to 
his  disappointment,  I  suppose,"  said  our  en- 
tertainer. 


X.XXU  INTRODUCTION. 

"  Not  so,"  said  the  Cure  ;  «  for  he  was 
so  enthusiastic  on  the  value  of  what  remains, 
that  I  am  convinced  that  nothing  but  your 
positive  request  to  the  contrary  prevented 
the  Chateau  of  Hautlieu  occupying  at  least 
twenty  pages  in  that  splendid  work  of  which 
he  sent  us  a  copy,  and  which  will  remain  a 
lasting  monumeut  of  his  zeal  and  erudition." 

"Dr.  Dibdin  is  extremely  polite,"  said 
the  Marquis  ;  "  and,  when  we  have  had  our 
coffee — here  it  comes — we  will  go  to  the 
turret ;  and  I  hope,  as  Monsieur  has  not 
despised  my  poor  fare,  so  he  will  pardon  the 
state  of  my  confused  library,  while  I  shall 
be  equally  happy  if  it  can  afford  any  thing 
which  cart  give  him  amusement.  Indeed," 
he  added,  "  were  it  otherwise,  you,  my  good 
father,  have  every  right  over  books,  which, 
without  your  intervention,  would  never  have 
returned  to  the  owner." 

Although  this  additional  act  of  courtesy 
was  evidently  wrested  by  the  importunity 
of  the  Cure  from  his  reluctant  friend,  whose 
desire  to  conceal,  the  nakedness  of  the  land, 
and  the  extent  of  his  losses,  seemed  always 
to  struggle  with  his  disposition  to  be  obli- 
ging, I  could  not  help  accepting  an  offer, 
which,  in  strict  politeness,  I  ought  perhaps 
to  have  refused.  But  then,  the  remains  of 
a  collection  of  such  curiosity  as  had  given 
to  our  bibliomaniacal  Doctor  the  desire  of 
leading  the  forlorn  hope  in  an  escalade — it 
would  have  been  a  desperate  act  of  self- 
denial  to  have  declined  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  it.  La  Jeunesse  brought  coffee,  such 
as  we  only  taste  on  the  continent,  upon  a 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxiii 

salver,  covered  with  a  napkin,  that  it  might 
he  cense  for  silver;  and  chasse-caffe  from 
Martinique  on  a  small  waiter,  which  was 
certainly  so.  Our  repast  thus  finished,  the 
Marquis  led  me,  up  an  escalier  derobe, 
into  a  very  large  and  well-proportioned  sa- 
loon, of  nearly  one  hundred  feet  in  length  ; 
but  so  waste  and  dilapidated,  that  I  kept 
my  eyes  on  the  ground,  lest  my  kind  enter- 
tainer should  feel  himself  called  upon  to  apo- 
logize for  tattered  pictures  and  torn  tapes- 
try ;  and,  worse  than  hoth,  for  casements 
that  had  yielded,  in  one  or  two  instauces,  to 
the  boisterous  blast. 

11  We  have  contrived  to  make  the  turret 
something  more  habitable."  said  the  Mar- 
quis, as  he  moved  hastily  through  this  cham- 
ber of  desolation.  "  This,"  he  said,  "  was 
the  picture  gallery  in  former  times,  and  in 
the  boudoir  beyond,  which  we  now  occupy 
as  a  book  closet,  were  preserved  some  curi- 
ous cabinet  paintings,  whose  small  size  re- 
quired that  they  should  be  viewed  nearly." 

As  he  spoke,  he  held  aside  a  portion  of 
the  tapestry  I  have  meutioned,  and  we  en- 
tered the  room  of  which  he  spoke. 

It  was  octangular,  corresponding  to  the 
external  shape  of  the  turrent  whose  interior 
it  occupied.  Four  of  the  sides  had  latticed 
window's,  commanding  each,  from  a  differ- 
ent point,  the  most  beautiful  prospect  over 
the  majestic  Loire,  and  the  adjacent  coun- 
try through. which  it  winded  ;  and  the  case- 
ments were  filled  with  stained  glas«,  through 
two  of  which  streamed  the  lustre  of  the  set- 
ting sun,  showing  a  brilliant  assemblage  of 


xxxi\  INTRODUCTION. 

religious  emblems  and  armorial  bearings, 
Which  it  was  scarce  possible  to  look  at.  with 
an  undazzled  eye  j  bat  the  other  two  win- 
dows, from  which  the  sunbeams  had  passed 
away,  could  be  closely  examined,  and  plain- 
ly shewed  that  the  lattices  were  glazed  with 
stained  glass,  which  did  not  belong  to  them 
originally,  but,  as  I  afterwards  learned,  to 
the  profaned  and  desecrated  chapel  of  the 
castle,  it  had  been  the  amusement  of  the 
Marquis,  for  several  months,  to  accomplish 
this  rifacciamento,  with  the  assistance  of  the 
Curate  and  the  all-capable  La  Jeunesse  ; 
and  though  they  had  only  patched  together 
iragiiieiits,  which  were  in  many  places  very 
minute,  yet  the  stained  glass,  till  examined 
very  closely,  and  with  the  eye  of  an  anti- 
quary, produced,  on  the  whole,  a  very  plea- 
sing effect. 

The  sides  of  the  apartment,  not  occupied 
by  the  lattices,  were  (excepting  the  space  for 
the  small  door.)  fitted  up  with  presses  and 
shelves,  some  of  walnut  tree,  curiouslycarved, 
and  brought  to  a  dark  colour  by  time,  near- 
ly resembling  that  of  a  ripe  chesnut,  and 
partly  of  common  deal,  employed  to  repair 
and  supply  the  deficiencies  occasioned  by 
violence  and  devastation.  On  these  shelves 
were  deposited  the  wrecks,  or  rather  the  pre- 
cious reliques  of  a  most  splendid  library. 

The  Marquis's  father  had  been  a  man  of 
information,  and  his  grandfather  was  famous, 
even  in  the  court  of  Louis  XIV.,  where  li- 
terature was  in  some  degree  considered  as 
the  fashion,  for  the  extent  of  his  acquire- 
ments.    Those  two  proprietors,  opulent  in 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxv 

their  fortunes,  and  liberal  in  the  indulgence 
of  their  taste   had    made  such  additions  to 
a  curious  old  Goihic  library,  which  had  de- 
scended from  their  ancestors,  that  there  were 
few  collections  in   France  which  could  be 
compared  to  that  of  Hautlieu.     It  had  been 
completely  dispersed   in  consequence  of  an 
ill-judged  attempt  of  the  present  Marquis  in 
1790.  to  defend  his  Chateau  against  a  revo- 
lutionary mob.  Luckily,  the  Cure,  who.  by 
his  charitable  and  moderate  conduct,  and  his 
evangelical  virtues   possessed  much  interest 
among  the  neighbouring  peasantry,  prevail- 
ed on  many  of  them  to   buy,  for  the  petty 
sura  of  a  few  sous,  and   sometimes  at  the 
vulgar  rate  of  a  glass  of  brandy,  volumes 
which  had  cost  large  sums,  but  which  were 
carried  off  in  mere  spite  by  the  ruffians  who 
pillaged  the  castle.     He  himself  also  had 
purchased  as  many  of  the  books  as  his  Funds 
could  possibly  reach,  and  to  his  care  it  was 
owing  that  they  were  restored  to  the  turret 
in  which  1  found  them.     It  was  no  wonder, 
therefore,  that  the  good  Cure  had  some  pride 
and    pleasure  in   shewing  the  collection  to 
strangers. 

In  spite  of  odd  volumes,  imperfections, 
and  all  the  other  mortifications  which  an 
amateur  encounters  in  looking  through  an 
ill-kept  library,  there  were  many  articles  in 
that  of  Hautlieu,  calculated,  as  Bayes  says, 
"  to  elevate  and  surprise"  the  Bibliomaniac. 
There  were, 

"The small  rare  volume,  dark  with  tarnish 'd  gold," 

as  Dr.  Ferriar  feelingly  sings — curious  and 
richly  painted  missals,  manuscripts  of  1380, 


XXXV1  INTRODUCTION. 

1320,  and  even  earlier,  and  works  in  Gothic 
type,  printed  in  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth 
centuries.  But  of  these  I  intend  to  give  a 
more  detailed  account,  should  the  Marquis 
grant  his  permission. 

In  the  meantime,  it  is  sufficient  to  say, 
that,  delighted  ivith  the  day  1  had  spent  at 
Hautiieu,  I  frequently  repeated  my  visit, 
and  that  the  key  of  the  octangular  tower 
was  always  at  my  command.  In  those  hours 
I  became  deeply  enamoured  of  a  part  of 
French  history,  which  although  most  im- 
portant to  that  of  Europe  at  large,  and  il- 
lustrated by  an  inimitable  old  historian,  I 
had  never  sufficiently  studied.  At  the 
same  time,  to  gratify  the  feelings  of  my  ex- 
cellent host,  L  occupied  myself  occasionally 
with  some  family  memorials,  which  had  for- 
tunately been  preserved,  and  which  contain- 
ed some  curious  particulars  respecting  the 
connection  with  Scotland,  which  first  found 
me  favour  in  the  eyes  of  the  Marquis  de 
Hautiieu. 


1  pondered  on  these  things,  more  meo, 
until  my  return  to  Britain  to  beef  and  sea- 
coal  fires  a  change  of  residence  which  took 
place  since  I  drew  up  these  Gallic  reminis- 
cences. At  length,  the  result  of  my  me- 
ditations took  (lie  form  of  which  my  read- 
ers if  not  startled  by  this  preface,  will  pre- 
sently be  enabled  to  judge.  Should  the 
Public  receive  it  with  favour  I  will  not  re 
gret  having  been  for  a  short  time  an  Ab- 
sentee. 


CHAPTER  I, 


THE  CONTRAST. 


Look  here  upon  this  picture,  and  on  this, 
The  counterfeit  presentment  of  two  brothers. 

Hamlet. 

The  latter  part  of  the  fifteenth  century  pre- 
pared a  train  of  future  events,  that  ended  by  rais- 
ing France  to  that  state  of  formidable  power 
which  has  ever  since  been,  from  time  to  time, 
the  principal  object  of  jealousy  to  the  other  Eu- 
ropean nations.  Before  that  period,  she  had  to 
struggle  for  her  very  existence  with  the  English, 
already  possessed  of  her  fairest  provinces  ;  while 
the  utmost  exertions  of  her  King,  and  the  gal- 
lantry of  her  natives,  could  scarce  protect  the  re- 
mainder from  a  foreign  yoke.  Neither  was  this 
her  sole  danger.  The  Princes  who  possessed  the 
grand  fiefs  of  the  crown,  and,  in  particular,  the 
Dukes  of  Burgundy  and  Bretagne,  had  come  to 
wear  their  feudal  bonds  so  lightly,  that  they  had 
no  scruple  i;i  lifting  the  standard  against  their 
liege  and  sovereign  lord,  the  King  of  France, 
on  the  slightest  pretences.      When  at  peace,  they 

Vol.  I.— t. 


THE   CONTRAST 


reigned  as  absolute  princes  in  their  own  provin- 
ces ;  and  the  House  of  Burgundy,  possessed  of 
the  district  so  called,  together  with  the  fairest 
and  richest  part  of  Flanders,  was  of  itself  so 
wealthy,  and  so  powerful,  as  to  yield  nothing  to 
the  crown,  either  in  splendour  or  in  strength. 

In  imitation  of  thfe  grand  feudatories,  each  in- 
ferior vassal  of  the  crown  assumed  as  much  in- 
dependence as  his  distance  from  the  sovereign 
power,  the  extent  of  his  fief,  or  the  strength  of 
his  residence,  enabled  him  to  maintain ;  and 
these  petty  tyrants,  no  longer  amenable,  to  the 
exercise  of  the  law,  perpetrated,  with  impunity, 
the  wildest  excesses  of  fantastic  oppression  and 
cruelty.  In  Auvergne  alone,  a  report  was  made 
of  more  than  three  hundred  of  these  independent 
nobles,  to  whom  incest,  murder,  and  rapine,  were 
the  most  ordinary  and  familiar  actions. 

Besides  these  evils,  another,  sprung  out  of  the 
long-continued  wars  betwixt  the  French  and 
English,  added  no  small  misery  to  this  distract- 
ed kingdom.  Numerous  bodies  of  soldiers  col- 
lected into  bands,  under  officers  chosen  by  them- 
selves among  the  bravest  and  most  successful 
adventures,  had  been  formed  in  various  parts  of 
France  out  of  the  refuse  of  all  other  countries. 
These  hireling  combatants  sold  their  swords  for 
a  time  to  the  best  bidder ;  and,  where  such  offer 
was  wanting,  they  made  war  on  their  own  ac- 
count, seizing  castles  and  towers,  which  they 
used  as  the  places  of  their  retreat, — making  pri- 
soners, and  ransoming  them, — exacting  tribute 
from  the  open  villages  and  the  country  around 
them  ;  and  acquiring,  by  every  species  of  rapine, 
the  appropriate  epithets  of  Tondeurs  and  Ecor- 
cheurs,  that  is  Clippers  and  Flayers. 

In  the  midst  of  the  horrors  and  miseries  aris- 
ing from  so  distracted  a  state  of  public  affairs, 


THE  CONTRAST.  ~ 

reckless  and  profuse  expense  distinguished  the 
courts  of  the  lesser  nobles  as  well  as  of  the  supe- 
rior princes  ;  and  their  dependents,  in  imitation, 
expended  in  rude,  but  magnificent  display,  the 
wealth  which  they  extorted  from  the  people.  A 
tone  of  romantic  and  chivalrous  gallantry  (which, 
however,  was  often  disgraced  by  unbounded  li- 
cense,) characterised  the  intercourse  between 
the  sexes  ;  and  the  language  of  knight-errantry 
was  yet  used,  and  its  observances  followed, 
though  the  pure  spirit  of  honourable  love,  and 
benevolent  enterprise,  which  it  inculcates,  had 
ceased  to  qualify  and  atone  for  its  extravagan- 
cies. The  jousts  and  tournaments,  the  enter- 
tainments and  revels,  which  each  petty  court  dis- 
played, invited  to  France  every  wandering  ad- 
venturer j  and  it  was  seldom  that,  when  arrived 
there,  he  failed  to  employ  his  rash  courage,  and 
headlong  spirit  of  enterprise,  in  actions  for 
which  his  happier  native  country  afforded  no 
free  stage. 

At  this  period,  and  as  if  to  save  this  fair  realm 
from  the  various  woes  with  which  it  was  me- 
naced, the  tottering  throne  was  ascended  by 
Louis  XI.,  whose  character,  evil  as  it  was  in  it- 
self, met,  combated,  and  in  a  great  degree,  neu- 
tralised the  mischiefs  of  the  time — as  poisons  of 
opposing  qualities  are  said,  in  ancient  books  of 
medicine,  to  have  the  power  of  counteracting 
each  other. 

Brave  enough  for  every  useful  and  political 
purpose,  Louis  had  not  a  spark  of  that  roman- 
tic valour,  or  of  the  pride  connected  with,  and 
arising  out  of  it,  which  fought  on  for  the  point  of 
honour,  when  the  point  of  utility  had  been  long 
gained.  Calm,  crafty,  and  profoundly  attentive 
to  his  own  interest,  he  made  every  sacrifice,  both 
of  pride  and  passion,  which  could  interfere  with 


4  THE  CONTRAST. 

it.  He  was  careful  in  disguising  his  real  senti- 
ments and  purposes  from  all  who  approached 
him  ;  and  frequently  used  the  expressions,  "  that 
the  king  knew  not  how  to  reign,  who  knew  not 
how  to  disse  :  ble  ;  and  that,  for  himself,  if  he 
thought  his  very  cap  knew  his  secrets,  he  would 
throw  it  into  the  fire."  No  man  of  his  own,  or 
of  any  other  time,  better  understood  how  to  avail 
himself  of  the  frailties  of  others,  and  when  to 
avoid  giving  any  advantage  by  the  untimely  in- 
dulgence of  his  own. 

He  was  by  nature  vindictive  and  cruel,  even  to 
the  extent  of  finding  pleasure  in  the  frequent  exe- 
cutions which  he  commanded.  But,  as  no  touch 
of  mercy  ever  induced  him  to  spare,  when  he 
could  with  safety  condemn,  so  no  sentiment  of 
vengeance  ever  stimulated  him  to  a  premature 
violence.  He  seldom  sprung  on  his  prey  till  it 
was  fairly  within  his  grasp,  and  till  all  chance  of 
rescue  was  in  vain,  and  his  movements  were  so 
studiously  disguised,  that  his  success  was  gene- 
rally what  first  announced  to  the  world  what  ob- 
ject he  had  been  manoeuvring  to  attain. 

In  like  manner,  the  avarice  of  Louis  gave  way 
to  apparent  profusion,  when  it  was  necessary  to 
bribe  the  favourite  or  minister  of  a  rival  prince 
for  averting  any  impending  attack,  or  to  break 
up  any  alliance  confederated  against  him.  He 
was  fond  of  license  and  pleasure  ;  but  neither 
beauty  nor  the  chase,  though  both  were  ruling 
passions,  ever  withdrew  him  from  the  most  re- 
gular attendance  to  public  business  and  the  af- 
fairs of  his  kingdom.  His  knowledge  of  man- 
kind was  profound,  and  he  had  sought  it  in  the 
private  walks  of  life,  in  which  he  often  personal- 
ly mingled  ;  and,  though  personally  proud  and 
haughty,  he  hesitated  not,  with  an  inattention  to 
the  arbitrary  divisions  of  society,  which  was  then 


THE  CONTRAST.  5 

thought  something  portentously  unnatural,  to 
raise  from  the  lowest  rank  men  whom  he  em- 
ployed on  the  most  important  duties,  and  knew 
so  well  how  to  choose  them,  that  he  was  rarely 
disappointed  in  their  qualities. 

Yet  there  were  contradictions  in  the  nature  of 
this  artful  and  able  monarch  ;  for  humanity  is 
never  uniform.  Himself  the  most  false  and  in- 
sincere of  mankind,  some  of  the  greatest  errors  of 
his  life  arose  from  too  rash  a  confidence  in  the 
honour  and  integrity  of  others.  When  these  er- 
rors took  place,  they  seem  to  have  arisen  from  an 
over-refined  system  of  policy,  which  induced 
Louis  to  assume  the  appearance  of  undoubting 
confidence  in  those  whom  it  was  his  object  to 
overreach  ;  for,  in  his  general  conduct,  he  was 
as  jealous  and  suspicious  as  any  tyrant  who  ever 
lived. 

Two  other  points  may  be  noticed,  to  complete 
the  sketch  of  this  formidable  character,  who  rose 
among  the  rude  chivalrous  sovereigns  of  the  pe- 
riod to  the  rank  of  a  keeper  among  wild  beasts, 
who,  by  superior  wisdom  and  policy,  by  distribu- 
tion of  food,  and  some  discipline  by  blows,  comes 
finally  to  predominate  over  those  who,  if  unsub- 
jected  by  his  arts,  would,  by  means  of  strength, 
have  torn  him  to  pieces. 

The  first  of  these  attributes  was  Louis's  exces- 
sive superstition,  a  plague  with  which  Heaven 
often  afflicts  those  who  refuse  to  listen  to  the  dic- 
tates of  religion.  The  remorse  arising  from  his  evil 
actions,  Louis  never  endeavoured  to  appease  by 
any  relaxation  in  his  Machiavellian  stratagems, 
but  laboured,  in  vain,  to  soothe  and  silence  that 
painful  feeling  by  superstitious  observances,  se- 
vere penance,  and  profuse  gifts  to  the  ecclesias- 
tics. The  second  property,  with  which  the  first 
is  sometimes  found  strangely  united,  was  a  dis- 

it 


6*  THE  CONTRA.Si. 

position  to  low  pleasures  and  obscure  debauch- 
ery. The  wisest,  or,  at  least,  the  most  crafty  so- 
vereign of  his  time,  was  fond  of  ordinary  life, 
and,  being  himself  a  man  of  wit,  enjoyed  the  jests 
and  repartees  of  social  conversation  more  than 
could  have  been  expected  from  other  points  of 
his  character.  He  even  mingled  in  the  comic  ad- 
ventures of  obscure  intrigue,  with  a  freedom 
scarce  consistent  with  the  habitual  and  guarded 
jealousy  of  his  character  ;  and  was  so  fond  of  this 
species  of  humble  gallantry,  that  he  caused  a 
number  of  its  gay  and  licentious  anecdotes  to  be 
enrolled  in  a  collection  well  known  to  book-col- 
lectors, in  whose  eyes,  (and  the  work  is  unfit  for 
any  other,)  the  right  edition  is  very  precious. 

By  means  of  this  monarch's  powerful  and  pru- 
dent, though  most  unamiable  character,  it  pleased 
Heaven,  who  works  by  the  tempest  as  well  as  by 
the  soft  small  rain,  to  restore  to  the  great  French 
nation  the  benefits  of  civil  government,  which,  at 
the  time  of  his  accession,  they  had  nearly  lost  all 
together. 

Ere  he  succeeded  to  the  crown,  Louis  had 
given  evidence  of  his  vices  rather  than  of  his  ta- 
lents. His  first  wife,  Margaret  of  Scotland,  was 
w  done  to  death  by  slanderous  tongues,"  in  her 
husband's  court,  where,  without  his  encourage- 
ment, no  word  had  been  breathed  against  that 
amiable  and  injured  Princess.  He  had  been  an 
ungrateful  and  a  rebellious  son,  at  one  time  con- 
spiring to  seize  his  father's  person,  and,  at  ano- 
ther, levying  open  war  against  him.  For  the  first 
offence,  he  was  banished  to  his  appanage  of  Dau- 
phine,  which  he  governed  with  much  sagacity — 
for  the  second,  he  was  driven  into  absolute  exile, 
and  forced  to  throw  himself  on  the  mercy,  and 
almost  the  charity  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  and 
his  son,  where  he  enjoyed  hospitality,  afterwards 


THE  CONTRAST.  7 

indifferently  requited,  until  the  death  of  his  fa- 
ther in  1461. 

In  the  very  outset  of  his  reign,  Louis  was  al- 
most overpowered  by  a  league   formed  against 
him  by  the  great  vassals  of  France,    with    the 
Duke  of  Burgundy,  or  rather  his  son,  the  Count 
de  Charolois,  at  its  head.     They  levied  a  power- 
ful   army,  blockaded   Paris,   fought   a  battle  of 
doubtful  event  under  its  very  walls,  and  put  the 
French  Monarchy  on  the  brink  of  actual  destruc- 
tion.    It  usually  happens,  in  such  cases,  that  the 
most  sagacious  general  of  the  two  gains  the  real 
fruit,  though  perhaps  not  the  martial  fame,  of  the 
disputed  field.  Louis,  who  had  shewn  great  per- 
sonal bravery  during  the  battle  of  Montlehery, 
was  able,  by  his  prudence,  to  avail  himseif  of  its 
undecided  event,  as  if  it  had  been  a  victory  on  his 
side.  He  temporised  until  the  enemy  had  broken 
up  their  leaguer,  and  shewed  so  much  dexterity 
in  sowing  jealousies  among  those  great  powers, 
that  their  alliance  "  for  the  public  weal,'1  as  they 
termed  it,  but,  in  reality,  for  the  overthrow  of  all 
but  the  external  appearance  of  the   French  mon- 
archy, broke  to  pieces,  and  was  never  again  re- 
newed in   a  manner  so  formidable.     From  this 
period,  for  several  years,  Louis,  relieved  of  all 
danger  from  England,  by  the  Civil  Wars  of  York 
and  Lancaster,   was  engaged,  like  an  unfeeling 
but  able  physician,  in  curing  the  wounds  of  the 
body  politic,  or  rather  in  stopping,  now  by  gentle 
remedies,  now  by  the  use  of  fire  and  steel,  the 
progress  of  those   mortal  gangrenes  with  which 
it  was  then  infected.   The  brigandage  of  the  Free 
Companies,  and  the  unpunished  oppressions  of 
the  nobility,  he  laboured  to  lessen,  since  he  could 
not  actually  stop  them  ;  and   gradually,  by  dint 
of  unrelaxed  attention,  he  gained  some   addition 
to  his  own  regal  authority,  or  effected  some  di- 


S  THE  CONTRAST. 

minution  of  those  by  which  it  was  counterba- 
lanced. 

Still  the  King  of  France  was  surrounded  by 
doubt  and  danger.  The  members  of  the  league 
"for  the  public  weal,"  though  not  in  unison, 
were  in  existence,  and  that  scotched  snake  might 
re-unite  and  become  dangerous  again.  But  a 
worse  danger  was  the  increasing  power  of  the 
Duke  of  Burgundy,  then  one  of  the  greatest 
Princes  of  Europe,  and  little  diminished  in  rank 
by  the  very  precarious  dependence  of  his  duchy 
upon  the  crown  of  France. 

Charles,  surnamed  the  Bold,  or  rather  the  Au- 
dacious, for  his  courage,  was  allied  to  rashness 
and  frenzy,  then  wore  the  ducal  coronet  of  Bur- 
gundy, which  he  burned  to  convert  into  a  royal 
and  independent  regal  crown.  This  Duke  was, 
in  every  respect,  the  direct  contrast  to  that  of 
Louis  XI. 

The  latter  was  calm,  deliberate,  and  crafty,  ne- 
ver prosecuting  a  desperate  enterprise,  and  never 
abandoning  a  probable  one,  however  distant  the 
prospect  of  success.  The  genius  of  the  Duke  was 
entirely  different.  He  rushed  on  danger  because 
he  loved  it,  and  on  difficulties  because  he  despised 
them.  As  Louis  never  sacrificed  his  interest  to 
his  passion,  so  Charles,  on  the  other  hand,  never 
sacrificed  his  passion,  or  even  his  humour,  to  any 
other  considerations.  Notwithstanding  the  near 
relationship  that  existed  between  them,  and  the 
support  which  the  Duke  and  his  father  had  af- 
forded to  Louis  in  his  exile,  when  Dauphin, 
there  was  mutual  contempt  and  hatred  betwixt 
them.  The  Duke  of  Burgundy  despised  the 
cautious  policy  of  the  King,  and  imputed  to  the 
faintness  of  his  courage,  that  he  sought  by  leagues, 
purchases,  and  other  indirect  means,  those  ad- 
vantages, which,  in  his  place,  he   would  have 


1HE   CONTRAST.  9 

snatched  with  an  armed  hand  ;  and  he  hated  him, 
not  only  for  the  ingratitude  he  had  manifested 
lor  former  kindnesses,  and  for  personal  injuries 
and  imputations  which  the  ambassadors  of  Louis 
had  cast  upon  him,  when  his  father  was  yet  alive, 
but  also,  and  especially,  because  of  the  support 
which  he  afforded  in  secret  to  the  discontented 
citizens  of  Ghent,  Liege,  and  other  great  towns 
in  Flanders.  These  turbulent  cities,  jealous  of 
their  privileges,  and  proud  of  their  wealth,  fre- 
quently were  in  a  state  of  insurrection  against 
their  liege  lords  the  Dukes  of  Burgundy,  and 
never  failed  to  find  under-hand  countenance  at 
the  Court  of  Louis,  who  embraced  every  oppor- 
tunity of  fomenting  disturbance  within  the  domi- 
nions of  his  overgrown  vassal. 

The  contempt  and  hatred  of  the  Duke  were  re- 
taliated by  Louis  with  equal  energy,  though  he 
used  a  thicker  veil  to  conceal  his  sentiments.  It 
was  impossible  for  a  man  of  his  profound  saga- 
city not  to  despise  the  stubborn  obstinacy  which 
never  resigned  its  purpose,  however  fatal  perse- 
verance might  prove,  and  the  headlong  impetu- 
osity, which  commenced  its  career  without  al- 
lowing a  moment's  consideration  for  the  obsta- 
cles to  be  encountered.  Yet  the  King  hated 
Charles  even  more  than  he  contemned  him,  and 
his  scorn  and  hatred  were  the  more  intense,  that 
they  were  mingled  with  fear,  for  he  knew  that 
the  onset  of  the  mad  bull,  to  whom  he  likened 
the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  must  ever  be  formidable, 
though  the  animal  makes  it  with  shut  eyes.  It 
was  not  alone  the  wealth  of  the  Burgundian  pro- 
vinces, the  discipline  of  the  warlike  inhabitants, 
and  the  mass  of  their  crowded  population,  which 
the  King  dreaded,  for  the  personal  qualities  of 
their  leader  had  also  much  in  them  that  was  dan- 
gerous.    The  very  soul    of  bravery,  which  he 


;U  THE  CONTRAST. 

pushed  to  the  verge  of  rashness,  and  beyond  it — 
profuse  in  expenditure — splendid  in  his  court, 
his  person  and  his  retinue,  in  all  which  he  dis- 
played the  hereditary  magnificence  of  the  house 
of  Burgundy,  Charles  the  Bold>  drew  into  his 
service  almost  all  the  fiery  spirits  of  the  age, 
whose  temper  was  congenial •  and  Louis  saw  too 
clearh*  what  might  be  attempted  and  executed  by 
such  a  train  of  desperate  resolutes,  following  a 
leader  of  a  character  as  ungovernable  as  their 
own. 

There  was  yet  another  circumstance  which  in- 
creased the  animosity  of  Louis  towards  his  over- 
grown vassal ;  for  he  owed  him  favours  which 
he  never  meant  to  repay,  and  was  under  the  fre- 
quent necessity  of  temporising  with  him,  and 
even  of  enduring  bursts  of  petulent  insolence,  in- 
jurious to  the  regal  dignity,  without  being  able 
to  treat  him  as  other  than  his  "  fair  cousin  of 
Burgundy." 

It  was  about  the  year  1468,  when  their  feuds 
were  at  the  highest,  though  a  dubious  and  hollow 
truce,  as  frequently  happened,  existed  for  the 
time  betwixt  them,  that  the  present  narrative 
opens.  The  person  first  introduced  on  the  stage 
will  be  found  indeed  to  be  of  a  rank  and  circum- 
stance, which  one  would  have  thought  scarce 
needed  illustration  from  a  dissertation  on  the  re- 
lative position  of  two  great  princes  ;  but  the  pas- 
sions of  the  great,  their  quarrels,  and  their  recon- 
ciliations, involve  the  fortunes  of  all  who  approach 
them  •  and  it  will  be  found,  on  proceeding  fur- 
ther in  our  story,  that  this  preliminary  Chapter 
is  necessary  for  comprehending  the  adventures 
of  the  individual  whom  we  are  about  to  describe. 


rirE   WAXDERe^  11 


CHAPTER.  II 


THE  WANDERER. 

Why  then  the  world  is  my  oyster,  which  I  with  sword  will  qpen. 

Ancient  Pistol. 

It  was  upon  a  delicious  summer  morning,  be- 
fore the  sun  had  assumed  its  scorching  power, 
and  while  the  dews  yet  cooled  and  perfumed  the 
air,  that  a  youth,  coming  from  the  north  east- 
ward, approached  the  ford  of  a  small  river,  or 
rather  a  large  brook,  tributary  to  the  Cher,  near 
to  the  royal  castle  of  Plessis,  whose  dark  and 
multiplied  battlements  rose  in  the  back  ground 
over  the  extensive  forest  with  which  they  were 
surrounded.  These  woodlands  comprised  a  no- 
ble chase,  or  royal  park,  fenced  by  an  enclosure, 
termed,  in  the  Latin  of  the  middle  ages,  Plex- 
itium,  which  gives  the  name  of  Plessis  to  so  many 
villages  in  France.  The  castle  and  village  of 
which  we  particularly  speak,  was  called  Plessis- 
les-Tours,  to  distinguish  it  from  others  of  the 
same  name,  and  was  built  about  two  miles  to 
the  southward  of  the  fair  town  of  that  name, 
the  capital  of  ancient  Touraine,  whose  rich  plain 
has  been  termed  the  garden  of  France. 

On  the  bank  of  the  above  mentioned  brook, 
opposite  to  that  which  the  traveller  was  ap- 
proaching, two  men,  who  appeared  in  deep  con- 
versation, seemtd,  from  time  to  time,  to  watch 
his  motions  ;  for,  as  their  station  was  much  more 
elevated,  they  could  remark  him  at  considerable 
distance. 

The  age  of  the  young  traveller  might  be  about 
nineteen,    or  betwixt  that   and  twenty,   and  his 


12  THE  WANDERER. 

face  and  person,  which  were  very  prepossessing, 
did  not,  however  belong  to  the  country  in  which 
he  was  now  a  sojourner.  His  short  grey  cloak 
and  hose  were  rather  of  Flemish  than  of  French 
fashion,  while  the  smart  blue  bonnet,  with  a  sin- 
gle sprig  of  holly  and  an  eagle's  feather,  was  al- 
ready recognised  as  the  Scottish  head-gear.  His 
dress  was  very  neat,  and  arranged  with  the  pre- 
cision of  a  youth  conscious  of  possessing  a  fine 
person.  He  had  at  his  back  a  satchell,  which 
seemed  to  contain  a  few  necessaries,  a  hawking 
gauntlet  on  his  left  hand,  though  he  carried  no 
bird,  and  in  his  right  a  stout  hunter's  pole. 
Over  his  left  shoulder  hung  an  embroidered 
scarf  which  sustained  a  small  pouch  of  scarlet 
velvet,  such  as  was  then  used  by  fowlers  of  dis- 
tinction to  carry  their  hawks'  food,  and  other 
matters  belonging  to  that  much  admired  sport. 
This  was  crossed  by  another  shoulder-belt,  which 
sustained  a  hunting  knife,  or  couteau  de  chasse. 
Instead  of  the  boots  of  the  period,  he  wore  bus- 
kins of  half  dressed  deerVskin. 

Although  his  form  had  not  yet  attained  its 
full  strength,  he  was  tall  and  active,  and  the  light- 
ness of  the  step  with  which  he  advanced  shewed 
that  his  pedestrian  mode  of  travelling  was  plea- 
sure rather  than  pain  to  him.  His  complexion 
was  fair,  in  spite  of  a  general  shade  of  darker 
hue,  with  which  the  foreign  sun  or  perhaps 
constant  exposure  to  the  atmosphere  in  his  own 
country,  had  in  some  degree  embrowned  it. 

His  features,  without  being  quite  regular, 
were  frank,  open,  and  pleasing.  A  half  smile, 
which  seemed  to  arise  from  a  happy  exuberance 
of  animal  spirits,  shewed,  now  and  then,  that 
his  teeth  were  well  set,  and  as  pure  as  ivory  ; 
whilst  his  bright  blue  eye,  with  a  corresponding 
gaiety,  had  an  appropriate   glance  for  every  ob- 


THE   WA1  13 

ject  which  it  encountered,  expressing  good  hu- 
mour, lightness  of  heart,  and  determined  reso- 
lution. 

He  received  and  returned  the  salutation  of  the 
few  travellers  who  frequented  the  road  in  these 
dangerous  times,  with  the  action  which  suited  each. 
The  strolling  spear-man,  half-soldier,  half-bri- 
gand, measured  the  youth  with  his  eye,  as  if  ba- 
lancing the  prospect  of  booty  with  the  chance  of 
desperate  resistance  ;  and  read  such  a  prospect 
of  the  latter  in  the  fearless  glance  of  the  passen- 
ger, that  he  changed  his  ruffian  purpose  for  a 
surly  "good  morrow,  comrade/'  which  the  young 
Scot  answered  with  as  martial,  though  a  less  sul- 
len tone.  The  wandering  pilgrim,  or  the  beg- 
ging friar,  answered  his  reverend  greeting  with 
a  paternal  benedicite ;  and  the  dark-eyed  peasant 
girl  looked  after  him  for  many  a  step  when  they 
had  passed  each  other,  and  interchanged  a  laugh- 
ing good-morrow.  In  short,  there  was  some 
attraction  about  his  whole  appearance  not  easily 
escaping  attention,  and  which  it  derived  from  the 
combination  of  fearless  frankness  and  good  hu- 
mour, with  sprightly  looks,  and  a  handsome  face 
and  person.  It  seemed,  too,  as  if  his  whole  ap- 
pearance bespoke  one  who  was  entering  on  liie  with 
no  apprehension  of  the  evils  with  which  it  is  beset, 
and  not  much  means  of  struggling  with  its  hard- 
ships, excepting  a  lively  spirit  and  a  courageous 
disposition :  and  it  is  with  such  tempers  that 
vouth  most  readily  sympathises,  and  for  whom 
age  and  experience  feel  affectionate  and  pitying 
interest. 

The  youth  whom  we  have  described,  had  been 
long  visible  to  the  two  persons  who  loitered  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  small  river  which  divi- 
ded him  from  the  park  and  the  castle  ;  but  as  he 

Vol.    I.—2 


14  THE    WANDERE*. 

descended  ihe  rugged  bark  to  the  water's  edge, 
with  the  light  step  of  a  roe  which  visits  the  foun- 
tain, the  younger  of  the  two  said  to  the  other, 
"  It  is  our  man — it  is  the  Bohemian  !  If  he  at- 
tempts to  cross  the  ford,  he  is  a  lost  man— the 
water  is  up,  and  the  ford  impassable.'" 

"  Let  him  make  that  discovery  himself,  gos- 
sip," said  the  elder  personage  ;"  it  may,  per- 
chance, save  a  rope,  and  break  a  proverb." 

«\  judge  him  by  the  blue  cap,"  said  the  other, 
M  for  I  cannot  see  his  face. — Hark,  sir — he  hal- 
loos  to  know  whether  the  water  be  deep." 

u  Nothing  like  experience  in  this  world,"  an- 
swered the  other — ulet  him  try." 

The  young  man,  in  the  meanwhile,  receiving 
no  hint  to  the  contrary,  and  taking  the  silence  of 
those  to  whom  he  applied  as  an  encouragement 
to  proceed,  entered  the  stream  without  further 
hesitation  than  the  delay  necessary  to  take  off  his 
buskins.  The  elder  person,  at  the  same  moment, 
hallooed  to  him  to  beware,  adding,  in  a  lower 
tone,  to  his  companion,  «*  Mortdteu — gossip — 
you  have  made  another  mistake — this  is  not  the 
Bohemian  chatterer.'' 

But  the  intimation  to  the  vouth  came  too  late. 
He  either  did  not  hear  or  could  not  profit  by  it, 
being  already  in  the  deep  stream.  To  one  less 
alert,  and  practised  in  the  exercise  of  swimming, 
death  had  been  certain,  for  the  brook  was  both 
deep  and  strong. 

m  By  Saint  Anne  !  but  he  is  a  proper  youth," 
said  the  elder  man — <l  Run,  gossip,  and  help 
your  blunder  by  giving  him  aid,  if  thou  canst. 
He  belongs  to  thine  own  troop — if  old  saws  speak 
truth,  water  will  not  drown  him." 

Indeed  the  young  traveller  swam  so  strongly, 
and  buffeted  the  waves  so  well,  that,  notwith- 


THE    WANDERER.  -  15 

standing  the  strength  of  the  current,  he  was  car- 
ried but  a  little  way  down  from  the  ordinary 
landing  place. 

By  this  time  the  younger  of  the  two  strangers 
was  hurrying  down  to  the  shore  to  render  assist- 
ance, while  the  other  followed  him  at  a  graver 
pace,  saying  to  himself  as  he  approached,  "  I 
knew  water  would  never  drown  that  young  fel- 
low.— By  my  haiidome,  he  is  ashore,  and  grasps 
his  pole — If  I  make  not  the  more  haste,  he  will 
beat  my  gossip  for  the  only  charitable  action 
which  I  ever  saw  him  perform  in  his  life." 

There  was  some  reason  to  augur  such  a  con- 
clusion of  the  adventure,  for  the  bonny  Scot  had 
already  accosted  the  younger  Samaritan,  who 
was  hastening  to  his  assistance,  with  these  ireful 
words — "  Discourteous  dog !  why  did  you  not 
answer  when  I  called  to  know  if  the  passage  was 
fit  to  be  attempted  ?  May  the  foul  fiend  catch 
me,  but  I  will  teach  you  the  respect  due  to 
strangers  on  the  next  occasion." 

This  was  accompanied  with  that  significant 
flourish  with  his  pole  which  is  called  le  moulinet, 
because  the  artist,  holding  it  in  the  middle,  bran- 
dishes the  two  ends  in  every  direction,  like  the 
sails  of  a  wind-mill  in  motion.  His  opponent, 
seeing  himself  thus  menaced,  laid  hand  upon  his 
sword,  for  he  was  one  of  those  who  on  all  occa- 
sions are  more  ready  for  action  than  for  speech  ; 
but  his  more  considerate  comrade,  who  came  up, 
commanded  him  to  forbear,  and,  turning  to  the 
young  man,  accused  him  in  turn  of  precipitation 
in  plunging  into  the  swollen  ford,  and  of  intem- 
perate violence  in  quarrelling  with  a  man  who 
was  hastening  to  his  assistance. 

The  young  man,  on  hearing  himself  thus  re- 
proved by  a  man  of  advanced  age  and  respecta- 


16  THE    WANDERER. 

ble  appearance,  immediately  lowered  his  weapon, 
and  said  he  would  be  sorry  if  he  had  done  them 
injustice  ;  but,  in  reality,  it  appeared  to  him  as 
if  they  had  suffered  him  to  put  his  life  in  peril 
for  want  of  a  word  of  timely  warning,  which 
could  be  the  part  neither  of  honest  men  nor  of 
good  Christians,  far  less  of  respectable  burgesses, 
such  as  they  seemed  to  be. 

"  Fair  son,"  said  the  elder  person,  U  you  seem, 
from  your  accent  and  complexion,  a  stranger  ; 
and  you  should  recollect  your  dialect  is  not  so 
easily  comprehended  by  us,  as  perhaps  it  may 
be  uttered  by  you." 

"  Well,  father,"  answered  the  youth,  "  I  do 
not  care  much  about  the  ducking  I  have  had, 
and  I  will  readily  forgive  your  being  partly  the 
cause,  providing  you  will  direct  me  to  some  p 
where  I  can  have  my  clothes  dried  ;  for  it  is  my 
only  suit,  and  I  must  keep  it  somewhat  decent." 
"  For  whom  do  you  take  us,  fair  sen  V  said  the 
elder  stranger,  in  answer  to  this  ques'tion. 

"For  substantial  burgesses,  unquestionably," 
said  the  youth  ;  "  or,  hold — you,  master,  may  be 
•a  money-broker,  or  a  corn-merchant  ;  and  this 
man  a  butcher,  or  grazier." 

<l  You  have  hit  our  capacities  rarely,"  said  the 
elder,  smiling.  «c  My  business  is  indeed  to  deal 
in  as  much  money  as  I  can  ;  and  my  gossip's 
dealings  are  somewhat  of  kin  to  the  butcher's. 
As  to  your  accommodation,  we  will  try  to  serve 
you  ;  but  I  must  first  know  who  you  are,  and 
whither  you  are  going;  for,  in  these  times,  the 
roads  are  filled  with  travellers  on  foot  and  horse- 
back, who  have  any  thing  in  their  head  but  ho- 
nesty and  the  fear  of  God." 

The  young  man  cast  another  keen  and  pene- 
trating glance  on  him  who  spoke,  and  on  his  silent 


THE    WANDERER.  \% 

companion,  as  if  doubtful  whether  they,  on  their 
part,  merited  the  confidence  they  demanded  ;  and 
the  result  of  his  observation  was  as  follows. 

The  eldest  and  most  remarkable  of  these  men 
in  dress  and  appearance,  resembled  the  merchant 
or  shopkeeper  of  the  period.  His  jerkin,  hose, 
and  cloak,  were  of  a  dark  uniform  colour,  but 
worn  so  threadbare,  that  the  acute  young  Scot 
conceived,  that  the  wearer  must  be  either  very 
rich  or  very  poor,  probably  the  former.  The 
fashion  of  the  dress  was  close  and  short — a  kind 
of  garments,  which  were  not  then  held  decorous 
among  gentry,  or  even  the  superior  class  of  citi- 
zens, who  generally  wore  loose  gowns  which 
descended  below  the  middle  of  the  leg. 

The  expression  of  this  man's  countenance  was 
partly  attractive,  and  partly  forbidding.  His 
strong  features,  sunk  cheeks,  and  hollow  eyes, 
had,  nevertheless,  an  expression  of  shrewdness 
and  humour  congenial  to  the  character  of  the 
young  adventurer.  But  then,  those  same  sunken 
eyes,  from  under  the  shroud  of  thick  black  eye- 
brows, had  something  that  was  at  once  command- 
ing and  sinister.  Perhaps  this  effect  was  increas- 
ed by  the  low  fur  cap,  much  depressed  on  the 
forehead,  and  adding  to  the  shade  from  under 
which  those  eyes  peered  out;  but  it  is  certain 
that  the  young  stranger  had  some  difficulty  to 
reconcile  his  looks  with  the  meanness  of  his  ap- 
pearance in  other  respects.  His  cap,  in  particular, 
in  which  all  men  of  any  quality  displayed  either 
a  brooch  of  gold  or  of  silver,  was  ornamented 
with  a  paltry  image  of  the  virgin,  in  lead,  such 
as  the  poorer  sort  of  pilgrims  bring  from  Loretto. 
His  comrade  was  a  scout  formed,  middle  sized 
man,  more  than  ten  years  younger  than  his  com- 
panion, with  a  down-looking  visage  and  a  very 
ominous  smile,  when  by  chance  he  gave  way  to 


18  THE    WANDERER. 

that  impulse,  which  was  never  except  in  reply 
to  certain  secret  signs  that  seemed  to  pass  be- 
tween him  and  the  elder  stranger.  This  man 
was  armed  with  a  sword  and  dagger  j  and,  un- 
derneath his  plain  habit,  the  Scotsman  observed 
that  he  concealed  a  jazeran,  or  flexible  shirt  of 
linked  mail,  which,  as  being  often  worn  by  those, 
even  of  peaceful  professions,  who  were  called 
upon  at  this  perilous  period  to  be  frequently 
abroad,  confirmed  the  young  man  in  his  conjec- 
ture, that  the  wearer  was  by  profession  a  butcher, 
grazier,  or  something  of  that  description. 

The  young  stranger,  comprehending  in  one 
glance  the  result  of  the  observation  which  has 
taken  us  some  time  to  express,  answered,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  "  I  do  not  know  whom  I  may 
have  the  honour  to  address,"  making  a  slight 
reverence  at  the  same  time,  "  but  I  am  indifferent 
who  know's  that  I  am  a  cadet  of  Scotland  ;  and 
that  I  come  to  seek  my  fortune  in  France  or 
elsewhere,  after  the  custom  of  my  countrymen." 

"  Pasques-dieu  !  and  a  gallant  custom  it  is," 
said  the  elder  stranger.  4t  You  seem  a  fine  young 
springald,  and  at  the  right  age  to  prosper,  whe- 
thtr  among  men  or  women.  What  say  you  ?  I 
am  a  merchant,  and  want  a  lad  to  assist  in  my 
traffic — I  suppose  you  are  too  much  a  gentleman 
to  assist  in  such  mechanical  drudgery?" 

"  Fair  sir,"  said  the  youth,  u  if  your  offer  be 
seriously  made — of  which  I  have  my  doubts — I 
am  bound  to  thank  you  for  it,  and  I  thank  you 
accordingly  ;  but  I  fear  I  should  be  altogether 
unfit  for  your  service." 

"  What,  I  warrant  thou  knowest  better  how  to 
draw  the  bow  than  how  to  draw  a  bill  ot charges, 
— canst  handle  a  broadsword  better  than  a  pen 
—ha  !" 

n  I  am,  master,"  answered  the  young  Scot,  "  a 


THE    WANDERER.  19 

braeman,  and  therefore,  as  we  say,  a  bowman. 
But  I  have  been  in  a  convent,  where  the  good 
fathers  taught  me  to  read  and  write,  and  even  to 
cypher." 

l<  Pasques-dieu  !  that  is  too  magnificent,"  said 
the  merchant.  <*  By  our  lady  of  Embrun,  thou 
art  a  prodigy,  man  !" 

"  Rest  you  merry,  fair  master"  said  the  youth, 
who  was  not  much  pleased  with  his  new  acquaint- 
ance's jocularity,  "  I  must  go  dry  myself,  instead 
of  standing  dripping  here  answering  questions." 

The  merchant  only  laughed  louder  as  he  spoke, 
and  answered, "  Pasques-dieu  !  the  proverb  never 
fails — -Jier  cotnme  un  Ecossois — but  come,  young- 
ster, you  are  of  a  country  I  have  a  regard  for, 
having  traded  in  Scotland  in  my  time — an  honest 
poor  set  of  folks  they  are  ;  and,  if  you  will  come 
with  us  to  the  village,  I  will  bestow  on  you  a  cup 
of  burnt  sack  aud  a  warm  breakfast,  to  atone  for 
your  drenching. — But,  tite-bleau  !  what  do  you 
with  a  hunting  glove  on  your  hand  ?  Know  you 
not  there  is  no  hawking  permitted  in  the  royal 
chase  ?" 

«  I  was  taught  that  by  a  rascally  forester  of 
the  Duke  of  Burgundy.  I  did  but  fly  the  falcon 
I  had  brought  with  me  from  Scotland,  and  that 
I  reckoned  on  for  bringing  me  into  some  note,  at 
a  heron  near  Peronne,  and  the  rascally  schelm 
shot  my  bird  with  an  arrow." 

"  What  did  you  do,"  said  the  merchant. 

"  Beat  him,"  said  the  youngster,  brandishing 
his  staff,  <c  as  near  to  death  as  a  Christian  man 
should  belabour  another  ;  for  I  wanted  not  to 
have  his  blood  to  answer/' 

k  Know  you,  that  had  you  fallen  into  the  Duke 
of  Burgundy's  hands,  he  would  have  hung  you 
up  like   a  chesnutr" 

"  Ay,  1  am  told  he  is  as  prompt  as  the  King 


20  THE    WANDERER. 

of  France  for  that  sort  of  work.  But,  as  this 
happened  near  Peronne,  I  made  a  leap  over  the 
frontier,  and  laughed  at  him.  If  he  had  not  been 
so  hasty,  I  might  perhaps  have  taken  service 
with  him." 

«  He  will  have  a  heavy  miss  of  such  a  paladin 
as  you  are,  if  the  truce  should  break  off,"  said 
the  merchant,  and  threw  a  look  at  his  companion, 
who  answered  him  with  one  of  the  downcast 
lowering  smiles,  which  gleamed  along  his  coun- 
tenance,enlivening  it  as  a  passing  meteor  enlivens 
a  winter  sky. 

The  young  Scot  suddenly  stopped,  pulled  his 
bonnet  over  his  right  eyebrow,  as  one  that  would 
not  be  ridiculed,  and  said  firmly,  "  My  masters, 
and  especially  you,  sir,  the  elder,  and  who  should 
be  the  wiser,  you  will  find,  I  presume,  no  wise 
or  safe  jesting  at  my  expense.  I  do  not  alto- 
gether like  the  tone  of  your  conversation.  I  can 
take  a  jest  with  any  man,  and  a  rebuke  too,  from 
my  elder,  and  say  thank  you,  sir,  if  I  know  it  to 
be  deserved  ;  but  I  do  not  like  being  borne  in 
hand  as  if  I  were  a  child,  when,  God  wot,  I  find 
myself  man  enough  to  belabour  you  both,  if  you 
provoke  me  too  far." 

The  eldest  man  seemed  like  to  choke  with 
laughter  at  thelad's  demeanour — his  companion's 
hand  stole  to  his  sword-hilt,  which  the  youth  ob- 
serving, dealt  him  a  blow  across  the  wrist,  which 
made  him  incapable  of  grasping  it  ;  while  his 
companion's  mirth  was  onh-  increased  bv  the  in- 
cident. "  Hold,  hold,"  he  cried,  "  most  doughty 
Scotchman,  even  for  thine  own  dear  country's 
sake  ;  and  you,  gossip,  forbear  your  menacing 
look.  Pasques-dieu!  let  us  be  just  traders,  and 
set  off  the  wetting  against  the  knock  on  the  wrist, 
which  was  given  with  so  much  grace  and  alacrity. 
—  And  hark  ye,  friend,"  he  said  to   the  young 


THE    WANDERER.  21 

man,  with  a  grave  sternness,  which,  spite  of  all 
the  youth  could  do,  damped  and  overawed  him, 
v<no  more  violence.  I  am  no  fit  object  for  it, 
and  my  gossip,  as  you  may  see,  has  had  enough 
of  it.     Let  me  know  your  name." 

"  I  can  answer  a  civil  question  civilly,"  said 
the  vouth  ;  (i  and  will  pay  fitting  respect  to  your 
age,  if  you  do  not  urge  my  patience  with  mock- 
ery. Since  I  have  been  her?  in  France  and  Flan- 
ders, men  have  called  me,  in  their  fantasy,  the 
Varlet  with  the  Velvet  Pouch,  because  of  this 
hawk-purse  which  I  carry  by  my  bide  ;  but  my 
true  name,  when  at  home,  is  Quentin  Durward." 
fct  Durward  !"  said  the  querist,  «  is  it  a  gen- 
tleman s  Dame  ?" 

"  By  fifteen  descents  in  our  family,"  said  the 
young  man  ;  "  and  that  makes  me  reluctant  to 
follow  any  other  trade  than  arms." 

"  A  true  Scot !  Plenty  of  blood,  plenty  of 
pride,  and  right  great  scarcity  of  ducats,  I  war- 
rant thee. — Well  gossip,"  he  said  to  his  compa- 
nion, "  go  before  us,  and  tell  them  to  have  some 
breakfast  ready  yonder  at  the  Mulberry-grove  ; 
for  this  youth  will  do  as  much  honour  to  it  as  a 
starved  mouse  to  a  housewife's  cheese.  And  for 
the  Bohemian — hark  in  thy  ear — n 

His  comrade  answered  by  a  gloomy,  but  intel- 
ligent smile,  and  set  forward  at  a  round  pace, 
while  the  elder  man  continued,  addressing  young 
Durward, — "  You  and  I  will  push  forward  toge- 
ther, and  we  may  take  a  mass  at  Saint  Hubert's 
Chapel  in  our  way  through  the  forest;  for  it  is 
not  good  to  think  of  our  fleshly  before  our  spi- 
ritual wants." 

Durward,  as  a  good  Catholic,  had  nothing  to 
object  against  this  proposal,  although  he  would 
probably  have  been  desirous,  in  the  first  place, 
to  have  dried  his  clothes  and  refreshed  himself- 


22  THE   WANDERER. 

Meanwhile,  they  soon  lost  sight  of  their  down- 
ward-looking companion,  but  continued  to  follow 
the  same  path  which  he  had  taken,  until  it  led 
them  into  a  wood  of  tall  trees,  mixed  with  thick- 
ets and  brush  wood,  traversed  by  long  avenues, 
through  which  were  seen,  as  through  a  vista,  the 
deer  trotting  in  little  herds,  with  a  degree  of  se- 
curity which  argued  their  consciousness  of  being 
completely  protected. 

"  You  asked  me  if  I  were  a  good  bowman," 
said  the  young  Scot — «  Give  me  a  bow  and  a 
brace  of  shafts,  and  you  shall  have  a  piece  of 
venison." 

"  Pasques-dieu  I  my  young  friend,"  said  his 
companion,  "  take  care  of  that ;  my  gossip  yon- 
der hath  a  special  eye  to  the  deer  ;  they  are  un- 
der his  charge,  and  he  is  a  strict  keeper." 

"He  hath  more  the  air  of  a  butcher,  than  of  a 
gay  forester,"  answered  Durwarcl.  '<  I  cannot 
think  yon  hang-dog  leok  of  his  belongs  to  any 
one  who  knows  the  gentle  rules  of  woodcraft." 

"  Ah,  my  young  friend,"  answered  his  com- 
panion, Tmy  gossip  hath  somewhat  an  ugly  fa- 
vour to  look  upon  at  the  first,  but  those  who  be- 
come acquainted  with  him,  never  are  known  to 
complain  of  him." 

Quentin  Durward  found  something  singularly 
and  disagreeably  significant  in  the  tone  with  which 
this  was  spoken  :  and,  looking  suddenly  at  the 
speaker,  thought  he  saw  in  his  countenance,  in 
the  slight  smile  that  curled  his  upper  lip,  and 
the  accompanying  twinkle  of  his  keen  dark  eye, 
something  to  justify  his  unpleasing  surprise.  u  I 
have  heard  of  robbers,"  he  thought  to  himself, 
"  and  of  wily  cheats  and  cut-throats — what  if  yon- 
der fellow  be  a  murderer,  and  this  old  rascal  his 
decoy-duck  ?  I  will  be  on  my  guard — they  will 
get  little  by  me  but  good  Scottish  knocks." 


THE  WANDERER.  23 

While  he  was  thus  reflecting,  they  came  to  a 
glade,  where  the  large  forest  trees  were  more 
widely  separated  from  each  other,  and  where  the 
ground  beneath,  cleared  of  underwood  and  bush- 
es, was  clothed  with  a  carpet  of  the  softest  and 
most  lovely  verdure,  which,  screened  from  the 
scorching  heat  of  the  sun,  was  here  more  beauti- 
fully tender  than  it  is  usually  to  be  seen  in  France. 
The  trees  in  this  secluded  spot  were  chiefly 
beeches  and  elms  of  huge  magnitude,  which  rose 
like  great  hills  of  leaves  into  the  air.  Amidst 
these  magnificent  sons  of  the  earth,  there  peeped 
out,  in  the  most  open  spot  of  the  glade,  a  lowly 
chapel,  near  which  trickled  a  small  rivulet.  Its 
architecture  was  of  the  rudest  and  most  simple 
kind  ;  and  there  was  a  very  small  lodge  beside 
it,  for  the  accommodation  of  a  hermit  or  solitary 
priest,  who  remained  there  for  regularly  dis- 
charging the  duty  of  the  altar.  In  a  small  niche, 
over  the  arched  door-way,  stood  a  stone  image 
of  Saint  Hubert,  with  the  bugle-horn  around  his 
neck,  and  a  leash  of  greyhounds  at  his  feet.  The 
situation  of  the  chapel  in  the  midst  of  a  park  or 
chase,  so  richly  stocked  with  game,  made  the  de- 
dication to  the  Sainted  Huntsman  peculiarly  ap- 
propriate. 

Towards  this  little  devotional  structure  the 
old  man  directed  his  steps,  followed  by  young 
Durward  ;  and,  as  they  approached,  the  priest, 
dressed  in  his  sacerdotal  garments,  made  his  ap- 
pearance, in  the  act  of  proceeding  from  his  cell 
to  the  chapel,  for  the  discharge  doubtless  of  his 
holy  oifice.  Durward  bowed  his  body  reverently 
to  the  priest,  as  the  respect  due  to  his  sacred  of- 
fice demanded  ;  whilst  his  companion,  with  an 
appearance  of  still  more  deep  devotion,  kneeled 
on  one  knee  to  receive  the  holy  man's  blessing, 
and  then  followed  him  into  church,  with  a  step 


24  THE  WANDERER. 

and  manner  expressive  of  the  most  heartfelt  con- 
trition and  humility. 

The  inside  of  the  chapel  was  adorned  in  a  man- 
ner adapted  to  the  occupation  of  the  patron-saint 
while  on  earth.  The  richest  furs  of  animals  which 
are  made  the  objects  of  the  chase  in  different 
countries,  supplied  the  place  of  tapestry  and  hang- 
ings around  the  altar  and  elsewhere,  and  the  cha- 
racteristic emblazonments  of  bugles,  bows,  qui- 
vers, and  other  emblems  of  hunting,  surrounded 
the  walls,  and  were  mingled  with  the  heads  of 
deer,  wolves,  and  other  animals  considered  beasts 
of  sport.  The  whole  adornments  took  a  sylvan 
character  ;  and  the  mass  itself,  being  considera- 
bly shortened,  proved  to  be  of  that  sort  which  is 
called  a  hunti  Jig-mass,  because  in  use  before  the 
noble  and  powerful,  who,  while  assisting  at  the 
solemnity,  are  usually  impatient  to  commence 
their  favourite  sport. 

Yet,  during  this  brief  ceremony,  Durward's 
companion  seemed  to  pay  the  most  rigid  and  scru- 
pulous attention  ;  while  his  younger  companion, 
not  quite  so  much  occupied  with  religious 
thoughts,  could  not  forbear  blaming  himself  in 
his  own  mind,  for  having  entertained  suspicions 
derogatory  to  the  character  of  so  good  and  so 
humble  a  man.  Far  from  now  holding  him  as  a 
companion  and  accomplice  of  robbers,  he  had 
much  to  do  to  forbear  regarding  him  as  a  saint- 
like personage. 

When  mass  was  ended,  they  retired  together 
from  the  chapel,  and  the  elder  said  to  his  young 
comrade,  <<■  It  is  but  a  short  walk  from  hence  to 
the  village — you  may  now  break  your  fast  with 
an  unprejudiced  conscience — follow  me." 

Turning  to  the  right,  and  proceeding  along  a 
path  which  seemed  gradually  to  ascend,  he  desi- 
red his  companion  by  no  means  to  quit  the  track, 


THE  WANDERER.  25 

but,  on  the  contrary,  to  keep  the  middle  of  it  as 
nearly  as  he  could.  Durward  could  not  help  ask- 
ing the  cause  of  this  precaution. 

il  You  are  now  near  the  court,  young  man," 
answered  his  guide  ;  u  and,  Pasques-dieu  !  there 
is  some  difference  betwixt  walking  in  this  region 
and  on  your  own  heathy  hills.  Every  yard  of 
this  ground,  excepting  the  path  which  we  now 
occupy,  is  rendered  dangerous,  and  well  nigh 
impracticable,  by  snares  and  traps,  armed  with 
scythe-blades,  which  shred  off  trie  unwary  pas- 
senger's limb  as  sheerly  as  a  hedge-bill  lops  a 
hawthorn-sprig — and  cakhrops  that  would  pierce 
your  foot  through,  and  pit-falls  deep  enough  to 
bury  you  in  for  ever  ;  for  you  are  now  within 
the  precincts  of  the  royal  demesne,  and  we  shall 
presently  see  the  front  of  the  Chateau." 

"  Were  I  the  King  of  France,"  said  the  young 
man,  "  I  would  not  take  so  much  trouble  with 
traps  and  gins,  but  would  try  instead  to  govern 
so  weli,  that  no  one  should  dare  to  come  near  my 
dwelling  with  a  bad  intent  ;  and  for  those  who 
came  there  in  peace  and  good  will,  why,  the  more 
of  them  the  merrier  we  should  be." 

His  companion  "looked  round  with  an  alarmed 
gaze,  and  said,  M  Hush,  hush,  Sir  Varlet  with 
the  Velvet  Pouch  !  for  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  that 
one  great  danger  of  these  precincts  is,  that  the 
very  leaves  of  the  trees  are  like  so  many  ears, 
which  carry  all  which  is  spoken  to  the  King's  own 
cabinet." 

«*  I  care  little  for  that,*1  answered  Quentin  Dur- 
ward ;  «*  I  bear  a  Scottish  tongue  in  my  head, 
bold  enough  to  speak  my  mind  to  King  Louis's 
face,  God  bless  him — and,  for  the  ears  you  talk 
of,  if  I  could  see  them  growing  on  a  human  head, 
I  would  crop  [hem  out  of  it  with  my  wood  -knife." 

Vol.  I.— 3 


26  THE  CASTLt. 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE  CASTLE. 


Full  in  the  midst  a  mighty  pile  arose, 
Where  iron-grated  gates  their  strength  oppose 
To  each  invading  step  —and,  strong  and  steep, 
The  battled  walls  arose,  the  fosse  sunk  deep. 
Slow  round  the  fortress  roll'd  the  sluggish  stream, 
And  high  in  middle  air  the  warder's  turrets  gleam. 

Anonymous. 

While  Durvvard  and  his  new  acquaintance 
thus  spoke,  they  came  in  sight  of  the  whole  front 
of  the  Castle  of  Plessis-les-Tours,  which,  even 
in  those  dangerous  times,  when  the  great  found 
themselves  obliged  to  reside  within  places  of  for- 
tified strength,  was  distinguished  for  the  extreme 
and  jealous  care  with  which  it  was  watched  and 
defended. 

From  the  verge  of  the  wood  where  young 
Durward  halted  with  his  companion,  in  order  to 
take  a  view  of  this  royal  residence,  extended,  or 
rather  arose,  though  by  a  very  gentle  elevation, 
an  open  esplanade,  clear  of  trees  and  bushes  of 
every  description,  excepting  one  gigantic  and 
half-withered  old  oak.  This  space  was  left  open, 
according  to  the  rules  of  fortification  in  all  ages, 
in  order  that  an  enemy  might  not  approach  the 
walls  under  cover,  or  unobserved  from  the  bat- 
tlements, and  beyond  it  arose  the  Castle  itself. 

There  were  three  external  walls,  battlemented 
and  turretted  from  space  to  space,  and  at  each 
angle,  the  second  inclosure  rising  higher  than 
the  first,  and  being  built  so  as  to  command  it 


THE  CASTLE.  27 

in  case  it  was  won  by  the  enemy  ;  and  being 
again,  in  the  same  manner,  commanded  by  the 
third  and  innermost  barrier.  Around  the  exter- 
nal wall,  as  the  Frenchman  informed  his  young 
companion,  (for  as  they  stood  lower  than  the 
foundation  of  the  wall,  he  could  not  see  it,)  was 
sunk  a  ditch  of  about  twenty  feet  in  depth,  sup- 
plied with  water  by  a  dam-head  on  the  river 
Cher,  or  rather  on  one  of  its  tributary  branches. 
In  front  of  the  second  inclosure,  he  said,  there 
ran  another  fosse,  and  a  third,  both  of  the  same 
unusual  dimensions,  was  led  between  the  second 
and  the  innermost  inclosure.  The  verge,  both 
of  the  outer  and  inner  circuit  of  this  triple  moat, 
was  strongly  fenced  with  palisades  of  iron,  serv- 
ing the  purpose  of  what  are  called  chevaux  de- 
frise  in  modern  fortification,  the  top  of  each  pale 
being  divided  into  a  cluster  of  sharp  spikes, 
which  seemed  to  render  any  attempt  to  climb 
over  an  act  of  self-destruction. 

From  within  the  innermost  inclosure  arose  the 
castle  itself,  containing  buildings  of  different  pe- 
riods, crowded  around,  and  united  with  the  an- 
cient and  grim-looking  donjon-keep,  which  was 
older  than  any  of  them,  and  which  rose,  like  a 
black  Ethiopian  giant,  high  into  the  air,  while 
the  absence  of  any  windows  larger  than  shot- 
holes,  irregularly  disposed  for  defence,  gave  the 
spectator  the  same  unpleasant  feeling  which  we 
experience  on  looking  on  a  blind  man.  The 
other  buildings  seemed  scarcely  better  adapted 
for  the  purposes  of  comfort,  for  what  windows 
they  had  opened  to  an  internal  court-yard  ;  so 
that  the  whole  external  front  koked  much  more 
like  that  of  a  prison  than  of  a  palace.  The  reign 
ing  King  had  even  increased  this  effect ;  for,  de 
sirous  that  the  additions  which  he  himself  made 
to  the  fortifications  should  be  of  a  character  not 


28  THE  CASTLE. 

easily  distinguished  from  the  original  building, 
(for,  like  many  jealous  persons,  he  loved  not  that 
his  suspicions  should  be  observed,)  the  darkest 
coloured  brick  and  free-stone  were  employed, 
and  soot  mingled  with  the  lime,  so  as  to  give  the 
whole  Castle  the  same  uniform  tinge  of  extreme 
and  rude  antiquity. 

This  formidable  place  had  but  one  entrance, 
at  least  Durward  saw  none  along  the  spacious 
front,  except  where,  in  the  centre  of  the  first  and 
outward  boundary,  arose  two  strong  towers,  the 
usual  defences  of  a  gateway  ;  and  they  could  ob- 
serve their  ordinary  accompaniments,  portcullis 
and  draw-bridge — of  which  the  first  was  lowered, 
and  the  last  raised.  Similar  entrance-towers 
were  visible  on  the  second  and  third  bounding 
wall,  but  not  in  the  same  line  with  those  on  the 
outward  circuit ;  because  the  passage  did  not  cut 
right  through  the  whole  three  inclosures  at  the 
same  point,  but,  on  the  contrary,  those  who  en- 
tered had  to  proceed  nearly  thirty  yards  betwixt 
the  first  and  second  wall,  exposed,  if  their  pur- 
pose were  hostile,  to  missiles  from  both  ;  and 
again,  when  the  second  boundary  was  passed, 
they  must  make  a  second  digression  from  the 
straight  line,  in  order  to  attain  the  portal  of  the 
third  and  innermost  inclosure  ;  so  that  before 
gaining  the  outer  court,  which  ran  along  the  front 
of  the  building,  two  narrow  and  dangerous  de- 
files were  to  be  traversed,  under  a  flanking  dis- 
charge of  artillery,  and  three  gates,  defended  in 
the  strongest  manner  known  to  the  age,  were  to 
be  successively  forced. 

Coming  from  a  country  alike  desolated  by 
foreign  war  and  internal  feuds, — a  country,  too, 
whose  unequal  and  mountainous  surface,  abound- 
ing in  precipices  and  torrents,  affords  so  many 
situations  of  strength, — young  Durward  was  suf- 


THE  CASTLE.  29 

ficiently  acquainted  with  all  the  various  contri- 
vances by  which  men,  in  that  stern  age,  endea- 
voured to  secure  their  dwellings  ;  but  he  frankly 
owned  to  his  companion,  that  he  did  not  think 
it  had  been  in  the  power  of  art  to  do  so  much 
for  defence,  where  nature  had  done  so  little  ;  for 
the  situation,  as  we  have  hinted,  was  merely  the 
summit  of  a  gentle  elevation,  ascending  upwards 
from  the  place  where  they  were  standing. 

To  enhance  his  surprise,  his  companion  told 
him  that  the  environs  of  the  Gastle,  except  the 
single  winding  path  by  which  the  portal  might  be 
safely  approached,  were  like  the  thickets  through 
which  they  had  passed,  surrounded  with  every 
species  of  hidden  pit-fall,  snare,  and  gin,  to  en- 
trap the  wretch  who  should  venture  thither  with- 
out a  guide  ;  that  upon  the  walls  were  construc- 
ted certain  cradles  of  iron,  called  swallows9  nests , 
from  which  the  sentinels,  who  were  regularly 
posted  there,  could  take  deliberate  aim  at  any 
who  should  attempt  to  enter  without  the  proper 
signal  or  pass-word  of  the  day  ;  and  that  the  Ar- 
chers of  the  Royal  Guard  performed  that  duty 
day  and  night,  for  which  they  received  high  pay, 
rich  clothing,  and  much  honour  and  profit,  at  the 
hands  of  King  Louis.  "  And  now  tell  me,  young 
man,"  he  continued,  u  did  you  ever  see  so  strong 
a  fortress,  and  do  you  think  there  are  men  bold 
enough  to  storm  it  ?" 

The  young  man  looked  long  and  fixedly  on 
the  place,  the  sight  of  which  interested  him  so 
much,  that  he  had  forgotten,  in  the  eagerness  of 
youthful  curiosity,  the  wetness  of  his  dress.  His 
eye  glanced,  and  his  colour  mounted  to  his  cheek 
like  that  of  a  daring  man  who  meditates  an  hon- 
ourable action,  as  he  replied,  "  It  is  a  strong  cas- 
tle, and  strongly  guarded;  but  there  is  no  im- 
possibility to  brave  men." 
3f 


50  IHE    CASTLE. 

"  Are  there  any  in  your  country  who  could  do 
such  a  feat  ?"  said  the  elder,  rather  scornfully. 

"  I  will  n.»t  affirm  that,"  answered  the  youth  ; 
6i  but  there  are  thousands  that,  in  a  good  cause, 
Would  attempt  as  bold  a  deed/' 

"  Umph  !" — said  the  senior,  "  perhaps  you  are 
yourself  such  a  gallant  ?" 

"  I  should  sin  if  I  were  to  boast  where  there 
is  no  danger,"  answered  young  Durward  ;  "  but 
but  my  father  has  done  as  bold  an  act,  and  I  trust 
I  am  no  bastard." 

"  Well,"  said  his  companion,  smiling,  (i  you 
might  meet  your  match,  and  your  kindred  withal 
in  the  attempt  ;  for  the  Scottish  Archers  of  King 
Louis's  Life-guards  stand  sentinels  on  yonder 
walls — three  hundred  gentlemen  of  the  best  blood 
in  your  country." 

"  And  were  I  King  Louis,"  said  the  youth  in 
reply,  <l  I  would  trust  myself  to  the  three  hun- 
dred Scottish  gentlemen,  throw  down  my  bound- 
ing walls  to  fill  up  the  moat,  call  in  my  noble 
peers  and  paladins,  and  live  as  became  me,  amid 
breaking  of  lances  in  gallant  tournaments,  and 
feasting  of  days  with  nobles,  and  dancing  of 
knights  with  ladies,  and  have  no  more  fear  of  a 
foe  than  I  have  of  a  fly." 

His  companion  again  smiled,  and  turning  his 
back  on  the  castle,  which,  he  observed,  they  had 
approached  a  little  too  nearly,  he  led  the  way 
again  into  the  wood,  by  a  more  broad  and  beaten 
path  than  they  had  yet  trodden.  "This,"  he 
said,  "  leads  us  to  the  village  of  Plessis,  as  it  is 
called,  where  you,  as  a  stranger,  will  find  reason- 
able and  honest  accommodation.  About  two 
miles  onward  lies  the  fine  city  of  Tours,  which 
gives  name  to  this  rich  and  beautiful  earldom. 
But  the  village  Plessis,  or  Plessis  of  the  Park, 
as  it  is  sometimes  called,  from  its  vicinity  to  the 


THE  CASTLE.  31 

royal  residence,  and  the  chase  with  which  it  is 
encircled,  will  yield  you  nearer,  and  as  conve- 
nient hospitality." 

*  I  thank  you,  kind  master,  for  your  informa- 
tion," said  the  Scot ;  "  but  my  stay  will  be  so 
short  here,  that  so  I  fail  not  in  a  morsel  of  meat, 
and  a  drink  of  something  better  than  water,  my 
necessities  in  Plessis,  be  it  of  the  park  or  the 
pool,  will  be  amply  satisfied." 

"  Nay,"  answered  his  companion,  "  I  thought 
you  had  some  friend  to  see  in  this  quarter." 

"  And  so  I  have — my  mother's  own  brother," 
answered  Durward  ;  u  and  as  pretty  a  man,  be- 
fore he  left  the  braes  of  Angus,  as  ever  planted 
brogue  on  heather." 

u  What  is  his  name?"  said  the  senior;  "we 
will  inquire  him  out  for  you  ;  for  it  is  not  safe 
for  you  to  go  up  to  the  Castle,  where  you  might 
be  taken  for  a  spy." 

*•  Now,  by  my  father's  hand  !"  said  the  youth, 
I  taken  for  a  spy  ! — By  heaven,  he  shall  brook 
cold  iron  that  brands  me  with  such  a  charge  ! — 
But  for  my  uncle's  name,  I  care  not  who  knows 
it — it  is  Lesly.  Lesly — an  honest  and  noble 
name." 

"  And  so  it  is,  I  doubt  not,"  said  the  old  man; 
"  but  there  are  three  ot  the  name  in  the  Scottish 
Guard." 

"  My  uncle's  name  is  Ludovic  Leslie,"  said 
the  young  man. 

"Of  the  three  Leslies,"  answered  the  mer- 
chant, "  two  are  called  Ludovic." 

"  They  call  my  kinsman  Ludovic  with  the 
Scar,"  said  Quentin. — "  Our  family  names  are 
so  common  in  a  Scottish  house,  that,  where  there 
is  no  land  in  the  case,  we  always  give  a  to-name.*'' 
«  A  nomme  de  guerre,  I  suppose  you  to  mean," 
answered   his   companion  ;  u  and   the   man  you 


32  THE  CASTLE. 

speak  of,  we,  I  think,  call  Le  Balafre,  from  that 
scar  on  his  face — a  proper  man,  and  a  good  sol- 
dier. I  wish  I  may  be  able  to  help  you  to  an  in- 
terview with  him,  for  he  belongs  to  a  set  of  gen* 
tlemen  whose  duty  is  strict,  and  who  do  not  often 
come  out  of  garrison,  unless  in  the  immediate  at- 
tendance on  the  King's  person. — And  now, young 
man,  answer  me  one  question.  I  will  wager  you 
are  desirous  to  take  service  with  your  uncle  in  the 
Scottish  Guard.  It  is  a  great  thing,  if  you  pro- 
pose so  ;  especially  as  you  are  very  young,  and 
some  years  experience  is  necessary  for  the  high 
office  which  you  aim  at." 

"  Perhaps  I  may  have  thought  on  some  such 
thing,'1  said  Durward,  carelessly  j  "  but  if  I  did, 
the  fancy  is  off.'' 

4< How  so,  young  man?"  said  the  Frenchman, 
something  sternly — <«•  Do  you  speak  thus  of  a 
charge  which  the  most  noble  of  your  countrymen 
feel  themselves  emulous  to  be  admitted  to?" 

"  I  wish  them  joy  of  it,"  said  Quentin,  com- 
posedly.— <lTo  speak  plain,  I  should  have  liked 
the  service  of  the  French  King  full  well ;  only, 
dress  me  as  fine,  and  feed  me  as  high  as  you 
will,  I  love  the  open  air  better  than  being  shut 
ap  in  a  cage  or  a  swallow's  nest  yonder,  as  you 
call  these  same  grated  pepper-boxes.  Besides," 
he  added,  in  a  lower  voice,  "  to  speak  truth,  I 
love  not  the  Castle  when  the  covin-tree  bears 
such  acorns  as  I  see  yonder." 

l<  I  guess  what  you  mean,"  said  the  French- 
man ;  "  but  speak  yet  more  plainly." 

"  To  speak  more  plainly,  then,"  said  the  youth, 
•*  there  grows  a  fair  oak  some  flight-shot  or  so 
from  yonder  castle — and  on  that  oak  hangs  a 
man  in  a  grey  jerkin,  such  as  this  which  I  wear." 

'f  Ay  and  indeed  !"  said  the  man  of  France — 
u  Pasques-dieu  1  see  what  it  is  to  have  youthful 


THE  CASTLE.  oo 

eyes  !  Why,  I  did  see  something,  but  only  took  , 
it  for  a  raven  among  the  branches.  But  the 
sight  is  no  way  strange,  young  man  ;  when  the 
summer  fades  into  autumn,  and  moon  light  nights 
are  long,  and  roads  became  unsafe,  you  will  see 
a  cluster  of  ten,  ay  of  twenty  such  acorns,  hang- 
ing on  that  old  doddered  oak. — But  what  then  ? 
— they  are  so  many  banners  displayed  to  scare 
knaves  ;  and  for  each  rogue  that  hangs  there,  an 
honest  man  may  reckon  that  there  is  a  thief,  a 
traitor,  a  robber  on  the  highway,  a  pillour  and 
oppressor  of  the  people,  the  fewer  in  France. 
These,  young  man,  are  signs  of  our  Sovereign's 
justice." 

"  I  would  have  hung  them  farther  from  my 
palace  though  were  I  King  Louis,"  said  the 
youth. — "  In  my  country  we  hang  up  dead  cor- 
bies where  living  corbies  haunt,  but  not  in  our 
gardens  or  pigeon-houses.  The  very  scent  of 
the  carrion — fough — reached  my  nostrils  at  the 
distance  where  we  stood." 

M  If  you  live  to  be  an  honest  and  loyal  servant 
of  your  Prince,  my  good  youth,"  answered  the 
Frenchman,  "you  will  know  there  is  no  perfume 
to  match  the  scent  of  a  dead  traitor." 

"  I  shall  never  wish  to  live  till  I  lose,  the  scent 
of  my  nostrils  or  the  sight  of  my  eyes,"  said  the 
Scot. — "  Shew  me  a  living  traitor,  and  here  are 
my  hand  and  my  weapon  ;  but  when  life  is  out, 
hatred  should  not  live  longer. — But  here,  I  fancy, 
we  come  upon  the  village  ;  where  I  hope  to  shew 
you  that  neither  ducking  nor  disgust  have  spoiled 
mine  appetite  for  my  breakfast.  So,  my  good 
friend,  to  the  hostelrie,  with  all  the  speed  you 
may .-^ Yet,  ere  I  accept  of  your  hospitality,  let 
me  know  by  what  name  to  call  you." 

u  Men  call  me  Maitre  Pierre,"  answered  his 
companion. — .«« I    deal    in    no    titles.     A    plain 


34  THE    CASTLE. 

man,  that  can  live  on  mine  own  good — that  is 
my  designation." 

"  So  be  it,  Maitre  Pierre,"  said  Quentin, 
"and  I  am  happy  my  good  chance  has  thrown 
us  together  ;  for  I  want  a  word  of  seasonable  ad- 
vice, and  can  be  thankful  for  it." 

While  they  spoke  thus,  the  tower  of  the  church, 
and  a  tall  wooden  crucifix,  rising  above  the  trees, 
shewed  that  they  were  at  the  entrance  of  the  vil- 
lage. 

But  Maitre  Pierre,  deflecting  a  little  from  the 
road,  which  had  now  joined  an  open  and  public 
causeway,  said  to  his  companion,  that  the  inn  to 
which  he  intended  to  introduce  him  stood  some- 
what secluded,  and  received  only  the  better  sort 
of  travellers. 

'<  If  you  mean  those  who  travel  with  the  better- 
filled  purses,"  answered  the  Scot,  u  I  am  none 
of  the  number,  and  will  rather  stand  my  chance 
of  your  flayers  on  the  highway  than  of  your  flay- 
ers in  the  hostelrie." 

M  Pasques-dieu  /"  said  his  guide,  u  how  cau- 
tious your  countrymen  of  Scotland  are  !  An 
Englishman,  now,  throws  himself  headlong  into 
a  tavern,  eats  and  drinks  of  the  best  and  never 
thinks  of  the  reckoning  till  his  belly  is  full.  But 
you  forget,  Master  Quentin,  since  Quentin  is 
your  name,  you  forget  1  owe  you  a  breakfast  for 
the  wetting  which  my  mistake  procured  you — 
It  is  the  penance  of  my  offence  towards  you." 

u  In  truth,"  said  the  light-hearted  young  man, 
"  I  had  forgot  wetting,  offence,  and  penance  and 
all.  I  have  walked  my  clothes  dry,  or  nearly  so, 
and  I  will  not  refuse  your  offer  in  kindness,  for 
my  dinner  yesterday  was  a  light  one,  and  supper 
I  had  none.  You  seem  an  old  and  respectable 
burgess,  and  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  not 
accept  your  courtesy." 


THE    CASTLE.  35 

The  Frenchman  smiled  aside,  for  he  saw  plain- 
ly that  the  youth,  while  he  was  probably  half- 
famished,  had  yet  some  difficulty  to  reconcile 
himself  to  the  thoughts  of  feeding  upon  a  stran- 
ger's cost,  and  was  endeavouring  to  subdue  his 
inward  pride  by  the  reflection,  that  in  such  slight 
obligations,  the  acceptor  performed  as  complai- 
sant a  part  as  he  by  whom  the  courtesy  was  of- 
fered. 

In  the  meanwhile,  they  descended  a  narrow 
lane,  overshadowed  by  tall  elms,  at  the  bottom 
of  which  a  gate-way  admitted  them  into  the 
court-yard  of  an  inn  of  unusual  magnitude,  cal- 
culated for  the  accommodation  of  the  nobles  and 
suitors  who  had  business  at  the  neighbouring 
castle,  where  very  seldom,  and  only  when  such 
hospitality  was  altogether  unavoidable,  did  Louis 
XI.  permit  any  of  his  court  to  have  apartments. 
A  scutcheon,  bearing  ihejteur-de-ly},  hung  over 
the  principal  door  of  the  large  irregular  building  ; 
but  there  was  about  the  yard  and  the  offices  little 
or  none  of  the  bustle  which  in  those  days,  when 
attendants  were  maintained  both  in  public  and 
private  houses,  marked  that  business  was  alive, 
and  custom  plenty.  It  seemed  as  if  the  stern 
and  unsocial  character  of  the  royal  mansion  in 
the  neighbourhood  had  communicated  a  portion 
of  its  solemn  and  terrific  gloom  even  to  a  place 
designed  for  the  temple  of  social  indulgence, 
merry  society,  and  good  cheer. 

Maitre  Pierre,  without  calling  any  one,  and 
even  without  approaching  the  principal  entrance, 
lifted  the  latch  of  a  side  door,  and  led  the  way 
into  a  large  room,  where  a  faggot  was  blazing 
on  the  hearth,  and  arrangements  made  for  a  sub- 
stantial breakfast. 

"  My  gossip  has  been  careful," said  the  French- 
man to   the  Scot — "  You   must  be  cold,  and  I 


36  THE    DEJEUNEK. 

have  comtnancled  a  fire  ;  you  must  be  hungry, 
and  you  shall  have  breakfast  presently." 

He  whistled,  and  the  landlord  entered, — an- 
swered his  bon  jour  with  a  reverence — but  in  no 
respect  shewed  any  part  of  the  prating  humour 
properly  belonging  to  a  French  publican  of  all 
ages. 

u  I  expected  a  gentleman,"  said  Maitre  Pierre, 
"  to  order  breakfast — Hath  he  done  so  ?" 

In  answer,  the  landlord  only  bowed  j  and  while 
he  continued  to  bring,  and  arrange  upon  the 
table  the  various  articles  of  a  comfortable  meal, 
omitted  to  extol  their  merits  by  a  single  word.—. 
And  yet  the  breakfast  merited  such  eulogiums 
as  French  hosts  are  wont  to  confer  upon  their 
regales,  as  the  reader  will  be  informed  in  the 
next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  DEJEUNER, 

Sacred  heaven  !  what  masticators!  what  bread  ! 

Yorick's  Travels. 

We  left  our  young  stranger  in  France,  situated 
more  comfortably  than  he  had  found  himself 
since  entering  the  territories  of  the  ancient  Gauls. 
The  breakfast,  as  we  hinted  in  the  conclusion  of 
the  last  chapter,  was  admirable.  There  was  a 
pate  de  Perigord,  over  which  a  gastronome 
would  have  wished  to  live  and  die,  like  Homer's 
lotus-eaters,  forgetful  of  kin,  native  country,  and 
all  social  obligations  whatsoever.      Its  vast  walls 


THE  DEJEUNER.  3  #• 

of  magnificent  crust  seemed  raised  like  the  bul- 
warks of  some  rich  metropolitan  city,  anemblem 
of  the  wealth  which  they  are  designed  to  protect. 
There  was  a  delicate  ragout,  with  just  that  petit 
point  de  Fail  which  Gascons  love,  and  Scotchmen 
do  not  hate.  There  was,  besides,  a  delicate  ham, 
which  had  once  supported  a  noble  wild  boar  in 
the  neighbouring  wood  of  Montrichart.  There 
was  the  most  delicate  white  bread,  made  into 
little  round  loaves  called  bottles,  (whence  the  ba- 
kers took  their  French  name  of  boulangers,}  of 
which  the  crust  was  so  inviting,  that,  even  with 
water  alone  it  would  have  been  a  delicacy.  But 
the  water  was  not  alone,  for  there  was  a  flask  of 
leather  called  bottrine,  which  contained  about  a 
quart  of  exquisite  Vin  de  B ermine.  So  many  good 
things  might  have  created  appetite  under  the 
ribs  of  death.  What  effect  then,  must  they  have 
produced  upon  a  younster  of  scarce  twenty,  who 
(for  the  truth  must  be  told)  had  eaten  little  for 
the  two  last  days,  save  the  scarcely  ripe  fruit 
which  chance  afforded  him  an  opportunity  of 
plucking,  and  a  very  moderate  portion  of  barley? 
bread.  He  threw  himself  upon  the  ragout,  and 
the  plate  was  presently  vacant — he  attacked  the 
mighty  pasty,  marched  deep  into  the  bowels  of 
the  land,  and,  seasoning  his  enormous  meal  with 
an  occasional  cup  of  wine,  returned  to  the  charge 
again  and  again,  to  the  astonishment  of  mine 
host,  and  the  amusement  of  Maitre  Pierre. 

The  latter,  indeed,  probably  because  he  found 
himself  the  author  of  a  kinder  action  than  he  had 
thought  of,  seemed  delighted  with  the  appetite 
of  the  young  Scot ;  and  when,  at  length,  he  ob- 
served that  his  exertions  began  to  languish,  en- 
deavoured to  stimulate  him  to  new  efforts,  by 
ordering  confections,  darioles,  and  any  other  light 
dainties  he  could  think  of,  to  entice  the  youth  to 

Vol.  I.— 4 


38  THE  DEJEUNER. 

continue  his  meal.  While  thus  engaged,  Maitre 
Pierre's  countenance  expressed  a  kind  of  good 
humour  almost  amounting  to  benevolence,  which 
appeared  remote  from  its  ordinary  sharp,  caus- 
tic, and  severe  character.  The  aged  almost  al- 
ways sympathise  with  the  enjoyments  of  youth, 
and  with  its  exertions  of  every  kind,  when  the 
mind  of  the  spectator  rests  on  its  natural  poise, 
and  is  not  disturbed  by  inward  envy  or  idle  emu- 
lation. 

Quentin  Durward  also,  while  thus  agreeably 
employed,  could  do  no  otherwise  than  discover 
that  the  countenance  of  his  entertainer,  which 
he  had  at  first  found  so  unprepossessing,  mended 
when  it  was  seen  under  the  influence  of  the  Fin 
de  Beaulne*  and  there  was  kindness  in  the  tone 
with  which  he  reproached  Maitre  Pierre,  that 
he  amused  himself  with  laughing  at  his  appetite, 
without  eating  any  thing  himself. 

'<  I  am  doing  penance,"  said  Maitre  Pierre, 
44  and  may  not  eat  any  thing  before  noon,  save 
some  comfiture  and  a  cup  of  water.  Bid  yonder 
lady,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  inn-keeper, 
"  bring  them  hither  to  me." 

The  inn-keeper  left  the  room,  and  Maitre 
Pierre  proceeded, — *f  Well,  have  I  kept  faith 
witli  you  concerning  the  breakfast  I  promised 
you  r" 

"  The  best  meal  I  have  eaten,"  said  the  youth, 
"  since  I  left  Glen-houlakin." 

"Glen — what?"  demanded  Maitre  Pierre; 
"  are  you  going  to  raise  the  devil  that  you  use 
such  long-tailed  words  ?" 

«4  Glen-houlakin,  which  is  to  say  the  Glen  of 
the  Midges,  is  the  name  of  our  ancient  patrimony, 
my  good  sir.  You  have  bought  the  right  to 
laugh  at  the  sound,  if  you  please." 

li  I  have  not  the  least  intention  to  offend,"  said 


THE  DEJEUNER.  39 

the  old  man  ;  "  but  I  was  about  to  say,  since  you 
like  your  present  meal  so  well,  that  the  Scottish 
archers  of  the  guard  eat  as  good  a  one,  or  a  bet- 
ter, every  day." 

"  No  wonder,"  said  Durward,  "  for  if  they 
are  shut  up  in  the  swalloxvs''  nests  all  night,  they 
must  needs  have  a  curious  appetite  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

«  And  plenty  to  gratify  it  upon,"  said  Maitre 
Pierre.  u  They  need  not,  like  the  Burgundians, 
choose  a  bare  back,  that  they  may  have  a  full 
belly — thev  dress  like  counts,  and  feast  like  ab- 
bots.1' 

"  It  is  well  for  them,"  said  Durward. 

"  And  wherefore  will  you  not  take  service 
here,  young  man  ?  Your  uncle  might,  I  dare 
say, have  you  placed  on  the  file  when  there  should 
a  vacancy  occur.  And,  hark  in  your  ear,  I  my- 
self have  some  little  interest,  and  might  be  ot 
sorfie  use  to  you.  You  can  ride,  I  presume,  as 
well  as  draw  the  bow  r'1 

"  Our  race  are  as  good  horsemen  as  ever  put 
a  plated  shoe  into  a  steel  stirrup  ;  and  I  know  not 
but  I  might  accept  of  your  kind  offer.  Yet,  look 
you,  food  and  raiment  are  needful  things,  but,  in 
my  case,  men  think  of  honour,  and  advancement, 
and  brave  deeds  of  arms.  Your  King  Louis  — 
God  bless  him,  I  say,  for  he  is  friend  and  ally  of 
Scotland — but  he  lies  here  in  his  castle,  or  onlv 
rides  about  from  one  fortified  town  to  another  ; 
and  gains  cities  and  provinces  by  politic  embas- 
sies, and  not  in  fair  fighting.  Now,  for  me,  I 
am  of  the  Douglasses'  mind,  who  always  kept 
the  fields,  because  they  loved  better  to  hear  the 
lark  sing  than  the  mouse  squeak." 

u4  Young  man,"  said  Maitre  Pierre,  "  do  not 
judge  too  rashly  of  the  actions  of  sovereigns. 
JLouis  seeks  to  spare   the  blood  of  his  subjects, 


40  THE    DEJEUNER. 

and  cares  not  for  his  own.  He  shewed  himsejf 
a  man  of  courage  at  Montlhery." 

"  Ay,  but  that  was  some  dozen  years  ago  or 
more,"  answered  the  youth. -— "  I  should  like  to 
follow  a  master  that  would  keep  his  honour  as 
bright  as  his  shield,  and  always  venture  foremost 
in  the  very  throng  of  the  battle/' 

'<  Why  did  you  not  tarry  at  Brussels,  then,  with 
ihe  duke  of  Burgundy?  He  would  put  you  in 
the  way  to  have  your  bones  broken  every  day  ; 
and,  rather  than  fail,  would  do  the  job  for  you 
himself — especially  if  he  heard  that  you  had 
beaten  his  forester." 

'«  Very  true,"  said  Quentin  ;  «  My  unhappy 
chance  has  shut  that  door  against  me." 

"Nay,  there  are  plenty  of  dare  devils  abroad 
with  whom  mad  youngsters  may  find  service," 
said  his  adviser.  '•  What  think  you,  for  example, 
of  William  de  la  Mark  ?" 

"  What"  exclaimed  Durward,  "  serve  Him 
with  the  Beard — serve  the  wild  boar  of  Ardennes 
— a  captain  of  pillagers  and  murderers,  who  would 
take  a  man's  life  for  the  value  of  his  gaberdine, 
and  who  slays  priests  and  pilgrims  as  if  they 
were  so  many  lance  knights  and  men-at-arms? 
It  would  be  a  blot  on  my  father's  scutcheon  for 
ever. 

".Well  my  young  hot-blood,"  replied  Maitre 
Pierre,  "  if  you  hold  the  Sanglier  too  unscru- 
pulous, wherefore  not  follow  the  young  duke  of 
Gueldres  ?" 

«  Follow  the  foul  fiend  a  soon,"  said  Quentin. 
Hark  in  your  ear — he  is  a  burthen  too  heavy 
for  earth  to  carry-— hell  gapes  for  him  !  Men  say 
that  he  keeps  his  own  father  imprisoned,  and  that 
he  has  even  struck  him — Can  you  believe  it  ? 

Maitre  Pierre  seemed  somewhat  disconcerted 
with   the    naive    horror  with  which   the    young 


THE    DEJELNER.  41 

Scotchman  spoke  of  filial  ingratitude,  and  he  an- 
swered, *k  You  know  not,  young  man,  how  short 
a  while  the  relations  of  blood  subsist  amongst 
those  of  elevated  rank  ;"  then  changed  the  tone 
of  feeling  in  which  he  had  begun  to  speak,  and 
added,  gaily,  u  besides,  if  the  Duke  has  beaten 
his  father,  I  warrant  you,  his  father  hath  beaten 
him  of  old,  so  it  is  but  a  clearing  of  scores.'5 

"  I  marvel  to  hear  you  speak  thus,"  said  the 
Scotchman,  colouring  with  indignation,  l<  gray 
hairs  such  as  yours  ought  to  have  fitter  subjects 
for  jesting.  If  the  old  Duke  did  beat  his  son  in 
childhood,  he  beat  him  not  enough  ;  for  better  he 
had  died  under  the  rod,  than  have  lived  to  make 
the  christian  world  ashamed  that  such  a  mon- 
ster had  been  ever  baptised.'" 

"  At  this  rate,*'  said  Maitre  Pierre,  "  as  you 
weigh  the  characters  of  each  prince  and  leader, 
I  think  you  had  better  become  a  captain  your- 
self; for  where  will  one  so  wise  find  a  chieftain 
fit  to  command  him  ?.** 

uYou  laugh  at  me,  Maitre  Pierre,"  said  the 
youth,  good  humouredly  <land  perhaps  you  are 
right  :  but  you  have  not  named  a  man  who  is  a 
gallant  leader,  and  keeps  a  brave  party  up  here, 
under  whom  a  man  might  seek  service  well 
enough." 

"  I  cannot  guess  whom  you  mean." 

«<  Why  he  that  hangs  like  Mahomet's  coffin  (a 
curse  be  upon  him  !)  between  the  two  loadstones 
— he  that  no  man  can  call  either  French  or  Bur- 
gundian,  but  who  knows  to  hold  the  balance  be- 
tween them  both,  and  makes  both  of  them  fear 
and  serve  him,  for  as  great  princes  as  they  be." 

"  I  cannot  guess  whom  you  mean,"  said  Maitre 
Pierre;  thoughtfully. 

4*§Why,  whom  should  I  mean  but  the  noble 


42  THE    DEJEUNER. 

Louis  de  Luxemburg,  Count  of  Saint  Paul,  the 
High  Constable  of  France  ?  Yonder  he  makes 
his  place  good,  with  his  gallant  little  army,  hold- 
ing his  head  as  high  as  either  King  Louis  or 
Duke  Charles,  and  balancing  between  them,  like 
the  boy  who  stands  on  the  midst  of  a  plank,  while 
two  others  are  swinging  on  the  opposite  ends." 

<c  He  is  in  danger  of  the  worst  fall  of  the 
three,"  said  Maitre  Pierre.  «*  And  hark  ye,  my 
young  friend,  you  who  hold  pillaging  such  a 
crime,  do  you  know  that  your  politic  Count  of 
Saint  Paul  was  the  first  who  set  the  example  of 
burning  the  country  during  the  time  of  war  .?  and 
that  before  the  shameful  devastation  which  he 
committed,  open  towns  and  villages,  which  made 
no  resistance,  were  spared  on  all  sides  ?" 

«  Nay  faith,"  said  Durward,  "if  that  be  the 
case,  I  shall  begin  to  think  no  one  of  these  great 
men  is  much  better  than  another,  and  that  a  choice 
among  them  is  but  like  choosing  a  tree  to  be  hung 
upon.  But  this  Count  de  Saint  Paul,  this  Con- 
stable, hath  possessed  himself  by  clean  convey- 
ance of  the  town  which  takes  its  name  from  my 
honoured  saint  and  patron,  Saint  Quentin,  (here 
he  crossed  himself,)  and  methinks,  were  I  dwel- 
ling there,  my  holy  patron  would  keep  some  look- 
out for  me — he  has  not  so  many  named  after  him 
as  your  more  popular  saints — and  yet  he  must 
have  forgotten  me,  poor  Quentin  Durward,  his 
spiritual  god-son,  since  he  lets  me  go  one  day 
without  food,  and  leaves  me  the  next  morning 
to  the  harbourage  of  Saint  Julian,  and  the  chance 
courtesy  of  a  stranger,  purchased  by  a  ducking 
in  the  renowned  river  Cher,  or  one  of  its  tribu- 
taries. 

«'  Blaspheme  not  the  saints,  my  young  friend," 
said  Maitre  Pierre.  ««  Saint  Julian  is  the  faithful 


THE    DEJEUNER.  43 

patron  of  travellers  ;  and,  peradventure,  the  bless- 
ed Saint  Quentin  hath  done  more  and  better  for 
thee  than  thou  art  aware  of." 

As  he  spoke,  the  door  opened,  and  a  girl,  ra- 
ther above  than  under  fifteen  years  old,  entered 
with  a  platter,  covered  with  damask,  on  which 
was  placed  a  small  saucer  of  the  dried  plums 
which  have  always  added  to  the  reputation  of 
Tours,  and  a  cup  of  the  curiously  chased  plate 
which  the  goldsmiths  of  that  city  were  anciently 
famous  for  executing,  with  a  delicacy  of  work- 
manship that  distinguished  them  from  the  other 
cities  in  France,  and  even  excelled  the  skill  of  the 
metropolis.  The  form  of  the  goblet  was  so  ele- 
gant, that  Durward  thought  not  of  observing 
closely  whether  the  material  was  of  silver,  or,  like 
what  had  been  placed  before  himself,  of  a  baser 
metal,  but  so  well  burnished  as  to  resemble  the 
richer  ore. 

But  the  sight  of  the  young  person  by  whom 
this  service  was  executed,  attracted  Durward's 
attention  fat  more  than  the  petty  particulars  of 
the  duty  which  she  performed. 

He  speedily  made  the  discovery,  that  a  quan- 
tity of  long  black  tresses,  which,  in  the  maiden 
fashion  of  his  own  country,  were  unadorned  by 
any  ornament,  excepting  a  single  chapiet  lightly 
woven  out  of  ivy  leaves,  formed  a  veil  around  a 
countenance,  which,  in  its  regular  features,  dark 
eyes,  and  pensive  expression,  resembled  that  of 
Melpomene,  though  there  was  a  faint  glow  on  the 
cheek,  and  an  intelligence  on  the  lips  and  in  the 
eye,  which  made  it  seem  that  gaiety  was  not  for- 
eign to  a  countenance  so  expressive,  although 
it  might  not  be  its  most  habitual  expression. 
Quentin  even  thought  he  could  discern  that  de- 
pressing circumstances  were  the  cause  why  a 
countenance  so  young  and  so  lovely  was  graver 


44  THE    DEJEUNER. 

than  belongs  to  early  beauty  ;  and  as  the  ro- 
mantic imagination  of  youth  is  rapid  in  drawing 
conclusions  from  slight  premises,  he  was  plea- 
sed to  infer  from  what  follows,  that  the  fate  of 
this  beautiful  vision  was  wrapped  in  silence  and 
mystery. 

"  How  now,  Jacqueline !"  said  Maitre  Pierre, 
when  she  entered  the  apartment — u Wherefore 
this  ?  Did  I  not  desire  that  Dame  Perette 
should  bring  what  I  wanted  ? — Pasquts-dieu  /— 
Is  she,  or  does  she  think  herself,  too  good  to 
serve  me  ?" 

"  My  mother  is  ill  at  ease,"  answered  Jacque- 
line, in  a  hurried  yet  a  humble  tone  ;  ill  at  ease, 
and  keeps  her  chamber." 

"She  keeps  it  alone,  I  hope?  replied  Maitre 
Pierre,  with  some  emphasis  ;  I  am  vieux  routier, 
and  none  of  those  upon  whom  feigned  disorders 
pass  for  apologies." 

Jacqueline  turned  pale,  and  even  tottered  at 
the  answer  of  Maitre  Pierre;  for  it  must  be 
owned,  that  his  voice  and  looks,  at  all  times  harsh, 
caustic  and  unpleasing,  had,  when  he  expressed 
anger  or  suspicion,  an  effect  both  sinister  and 
alarming. 

The  mountain  chivalry  of  Quentin  Fur  ward 
was  instantly  awakened,  and  he  hastened  to  ap- 
proach Jacqueline,  and  relieve  her  of  the  burthen 
she  bore,  and  which  she  passively  resigned  to  him, 
while,  with  a  timid  and  anxious  look,  she  watch- 
ed the  countenance  of  the  angry  burgess.  It  was 
not  in  nature  to  resist  the  piercing  and  pity- 
craving  expression  of  her  looks,  and  Maitre 
Pierre  proceeded,  not  merely  with  an  air  of  di- 
minished displeasure,  but  with  as  much  gentle- 
ness as  he  could  assume  in  countenance  and  man- 
ner, "  I  blame  not  thee,  Jacqueline,  and  thou 
art  too  young  to  be,  what  it  is  pity  to  think  thou 


THE    DEJEUNER.  45 

must  be  one  day — a  false  and  treacherous  thing, 
like  the  rest  of  thy  giddy  sex.  No  man  ever 
lived  to  man's  estate,  but  he  had  the  opportunity 
to  know  you  all.  Here  is  a  Scottish  cavalier 
will  tell  you  the  same. 

Jacqueline  looked  for  an  instant  on  the  young 
stranger,  as  if  to  obey  Maitre  Pierre,  but  the 
glance,  momentary  as  it  was,  appeared  to  Dur- 
ward  a  pathetic  appeal  to  him  for  support  and 
sympathy  ;  and  with  the  promptitude  dictated 
by  the  feelings  of  youth,  and  the  romantic  vene- 
ration for  the  female  sex  inspired  by  his  edu- 
cation, he  answered  hastily,  k«  That  he  would 
throw  down  his  gage  to  any  antagonist,  of  equal 
rank  and  equal  age,  who  should  presume  to  say 
such  a  countenance,  as  that  which  he  now  looked 
upon,  could  be  animated  by  other  than  the  purest 
and  the  truest  mind." 

The  young  woman  grew  deadly  pale,  and  cast 
an  apprehensive  glance  upon  Maitre  Pierre,  in 
whom  the  bravado  of  the  young  gallant  seemed 
only  to  excite  laughter,  more  scornful  than  ap- 
plausive. Quentin,  whose  second  thoughts  ge- 
nerally corrected  the  first,  though  sometimes  after 
they  had  found  utterance,  blushed  deeply  at 
having  uttered  what  might  be  construed  into  an 
empty  boast,  in  presence  of  an  old  man  of  a 
peaceful  profession  ;  and,  as  a  sort  of  just  and 
appropriate  penance,  resolved  patiently  to  submit 
to  the  ridicule  which  he  had  incurred.  He  of- 
fered the  cup  and  trencher  to  Maitre  Pierre 
with  a  blush  on  his  cheek,  and  a  humiliation  of 
countenance,  which  endeavoured  to  disguise  it- 
self under  an  embarrassed  smile. 

u  You  are  a  foolish  young  man,"  said  Maitre 
Pierre,  "  and  know  as  little  of  women  as  of  prin- 
ces,— whose  hearts,"  he  said,  crossing  himself 
devoutly,  «  God  keeps  in  his  right  hand." 


46  THE    DEJEUNER. 

"And  who  keeps  those  of  the  women,  then  l" 
said  Qutntin,  resolved,  as  if  he  could  help  it,  not 
to  be  borne  down  by  the  assumed  superiority  of 
this  extraordinary  old  man,  whose  lofty  and  care- 
less manner  possessed  an  influence  over  him  of 
which  he  felt  ashamed. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  must  ask  of  them  in  ano- 
ther quarter,"  said  Maitre  Pierre,  composedly. 

Quentin  was  again  rebuffed,  but  not  utterly  dis= 
concerted.  "Surely,"  he  said  to  himself,  u  I  do  not 
pay  this  same  burgess  of  Tours  all  the  deference 
which  I  yield  him,  on  account  of  the  miserable 
obligation  of  a  breakfast,  though  it  was  a  right 
good  and  substantial  meal.  Dogs  and  hawks  are 
attached  by  feeding  only — man  must  have  kind- 
ness, if  you  would  bind  him  with  the  cords  of 
affection  and  obligation.  But  he  is  an  extraor- 
dinary person  ;  and  that  beautiful  emanation  that 
is  even  now  vanishing — surely  a  thing  so  fair  be- 
longs not  to  this  mean  place,  belongs  not  even  to 
the  money-gathering  merchant  himself,  though 
he  seems  to  exert  authority  over  her,  as  doubt- 
less he  does  over  all  whom  chance  brings  within 
his  little  circle.  It  is  wonderful  what  ideas  of 
consequence  these  Flemings  and  Frenchmen  at- 
tach to  wealth — so  much  more  than  wealth  de- 
serves, that  I  suppose  this  old  merchant  thinks 
the  civility  I  pay  to  his  age  is  given  to  his  money 
— -I,  a  Scottish  gentleman  of  blood  and  coat-ar- 
mour, and  he  a  mechanic  of  Tours  !" 

Such  were  the  thoughts  which  hastily  traversed 
the  mind  of  young  Durward ;  while  Maitre  Pi- 
erre said,  with  a  smile,  and  at  the  same  time  pat- 
ting Jacqueline's  head,  from  which  hung  down 
her  long  tresses,  "  This  young  man  will  serve  me, 
Jacqueline — thou  mayest  withdraw.  I  will  tell 
thy  negligent  mother  she  does  ill  to  expose  thee 
to  be  gazed  on  unnecessarih." 


THE    DEJEUNER.  4-T ' 

<;  It  was  only  to  wait  on  you,"  said  the  maiden. 
if  I  trust  you  will  not  be  displeased  with  your 
kinswoman,  since " 

'«  Pasques-dieu  /"  said  the  merchant,  inter- 
rupting her,  but  not  harshly,  "  do  you  bandy 
words  with  me,  you  brat,  or  stay  you  to  gaze 
upon  the  youngster  here  ? — Begone — he  is  noble, 
and  his  services  will  suffice  me." 

Jacqueline  vanished  ;  and  so  much  was  Quen- 
tin  Durward'interested  in  her  sudden  disappear- 
ance, that  it  broke  his  previous  thread  of  reflec- 
tion, and  he  complied  mechanically,  when  Maitre 
Pierre  said,  in  the  tone  of  one  accustomed  to  be 
obeyed,  as  he  threw  himself  carelessly  upon  a 
large  easy-chair,  "  Place  that  tray  besides   me.'' 

The  merchant  then  let  his  dark  eye-brows 
sink  over  his  keen  eyes,  so  that  the  last  became 
scarce  visible,  or  but  shot  forth  occasionally  a 
quick  and  vivid  ray,  like  those  of  the  sun  set- 
ting behind  a  dark  cloud,  through  which  its  beams 
are  occasionally  darted,  but  singly,  and  for  an 
instant. 

a  That  is  a  beautiful  creature,'''  said  the  old 
man  at  last,  raising  his  head,  and  looking  steady 
and  firmly  at  Quentin,  when  he  put  the  question 
— <l  a  lovely  girl  to  be  the  servant  of  an  auberge  f 
— she  might  grace  the  board  of  an  honest  burgess: 
but  'tis  a  vile  education,  a  base  origin," 

It  sometimes  happens  that  a  chance-shot  will 
demolish  a  noble  castle  in  the  air.  and  the  archi- 
tect on  such  occasions  entertains  little  good  will 
towards  him  who  fires  it,  although  the  damage 
on  the  offender's  part  may  be  wholly  unintentional. 
Quentin  was  disconcerted,  and  was  disposed  to 
be  angrv — he  himself  knew  not  why — with  this 
old  man,  for  acquainting  him  that  this  beautiful 
creature  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  what  her 


48  THE  DEJEUNEK. 

occupation  announcer! — -the  servant  of  this  au- 
bei-ge — an  upper  servant,  indeed,  and  probablv 
a  niece  of  the  landlord,  or  such  like  ;  but  still 
a  domestic,  and  obliged  to  comply  with  the  hu- 
mour of  the  customers,  and  particularly  of  Mai- 
tre  Pierre,  who  probably  had  sufficiency  of 
whims,  and  was  rich  enough  to  insure  their  being 
attended  to. 

The  thought,  the  lingering  thought  again  re- 
turned on  him,  that  he  ought  to  make  the  old 
gentleman  understand  the  difference  betwixt  their 
conditions,  and  call  on  him  to  mark,  that,  how 
rich  soever  he  might  be,  his  wealth  put  him  on 
no  level  with  a  Durward  of  Glen-houlakin.  Yet, 
whenever  he  looked  on  Maitre  Pierre's  counte- 
nance with  such  a  purpose,  there  was,  notwith- 
standing the  downcast  look,  pinched  features, 
and  mean  and  miserly  dress,  something  which 
prevented  the  young  man  from  asserting  the  su- 
periority over  the  merchant,  which  he  conceiv- 
ed himself  to  possess.  On  the  contrary,  the 
oftener  and  more  fixedly  Quentin  looked  at  him, 
the  stronger  became  his  curiosity  to  know  who, 
or  what,  this  man  actually  was  ;  and  he  set  him 
down  internally  for  at  least  a  Syndic  or  high  ma- 
gistrate of  Tours,  or  one  who  was,  in  some  way 
or  other,  in  the  full  habit  of  exacting  and  receiv- 
ing deference. 

Meantime,  the  merchant  seemed  again  sunk 
into  the  reverie,  from  which  he  raised  himself 
only  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross  devoutly,  and 
to  eat  some  of  the  dried  fruit,  with  a  morsel  of 
biscuit.  He  then  signed  to  Quentin  to  give  him 
the  cup,  adding,  however,  as  he  presented  it — • 
c<  You  are  noble." 

"  I  surely  am,"  replied  the  Scot,  "  if  fifteen 
descents  can  make  me  so — So  I  told  you  before, 


HIE    DEJEUNER.  49 

But  do  not  constrain  yourself  on  that  account, 
Maitre  Pierre — I  have  always  been  taught  it  is 
the  duty  of  the  young  to  assist  the  more  aged." 
*c  An  excellent  maxim,"  said  the  merchant, 
availing  himself  of  the  youth's  assistance  in 
handing  the  cup,  and  filling  it  from  a  ewer  which 
seemed  of  the  same  materials  with  the  goblet, 
without  any  of  those  scruples  in  point  of  pro- 
priety which  perhaps  Quentin  had  expected  to 
excite. 

"The  devil  take  the  ease  and  familiarity  of 
this  old  mechanical  burgher,"  said  Durward  once 
more  to  himself;  <c  he  uses  the  attendance  of  a 
noble  Scottish  gentleman  with  as  little  ceremony 
as  I  would  that  of  a  gillie  from  Glen-isla." 

The  merchant,  in  the  meanwhile,  having 
finished  his  cup  of  water,  said  to  his  companion, 
"  From  the  zeal  with  which  you  seemed  to  relish 
the  Vin  de  Baulne,  I  fancy  you  would  not  care 
much  to  pledge  me  in  this  elemental  liquor.  But 
I  have  an  elixir  about  me  which  can  convert  even 
the  rock  water  into  the  richest  wines  of  France." 

As  he  spoke,  he  took  a  large  purse  from  his 
bosom,  made  of  the  fur  of  the  sea-otter,  and 
streamed  a  shower  of  small  silver  pieces  into  the 
goblet,  until  the  cup,  which  was  but  a  small  one, 
was  more  than  half  full. 

"  You  have  reason  to  be  more  thankful,  young 
man,'*  said  Maitre  Pierre,  "  both  to  your  patron 
Saint  Quentin,  and  to  Saint  Julian,  than  you 
seemed  to  be  but  now.  I  would  advise  you  to 
bestow  alms  in  their  name.  Remain  in  this  host- 
elry until  you  see  your  kinsman,  Le  Balafre,  who 
will  be  relieved  from  guard  in  the  afternoon.  I 
will  cause  him  to  be  acquainted  that  he  may  find 
you  here,  for  I  have  business  in  the  Castle." 

Quentin  Durward  would  have  said  something 
to  have  excused  himself  from  accepting  the  pro- 

Vol.  I.— 5. 


50  THE    DEJEUNJEIU 

fuse  liberality  of  his  new  friend  ;  but  Maitrc 
Pierre,  bending  his  dark  brows,  and  erecting  his 
stooping  figure  into  an  attitude  of  more  dignity 
than  he  had  yet  seen  him  assume,  said,  in  a  tone 
of  authority,  "No  reply,  young  man,  but  do 
what  you  are  commanded." 

With  these  words,  he  left  the  apartment,  ma- 
king a  sign  as  he  departed,  that  Quentin  must 
not  follow  him. 

The  young  Scotchman  stood  astounded,  and 
knew  not  what  to  think  of  the  matter.  His  first 
most  natural,  though  perhaps  not  most  dignified 
impulse,  drove  him  to  peep  into  the  silver  goblet, 
which  assuredly  was  more  than  half  full  of  silver 
pieces,  to  the  number  of  several  scores,  of  which 
perhaps  Quentin  had  never  called  twenty  his  own 
at  one  time  during  the  course  of  his  whole  life. 
But  could  he  reconcile  it  to  his  dignity  as  a 
gentleman,  to  accept  the  money  of  this  wealthy 
plebeian  ? — this  was  a  trying  question  ;  for, 
though  he  had  secured  a  good  breakfast,  it  was 
no  great  reserve  upon  which  to  travel  either  back 
to  Dijon,  in  case  he  chose  to  hazard  the  wrath, 
and  enter  the  service,  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy, 
or  to  Saint  Quentin,  if  he  fixed  on  that  of  the 
Constable  Saint  Paul  ;  for  to  one  of  those  pow- 
ers, if  not  to  the  King  of  France,  he  was  deter- 
mined to  offer  his  services.  He  perhaps  took 
the  wisest  resolution  in  the  circumstances,  in  re- 
solving to  be  guided  by  the  advice  of  his  uncle  ; 
and,  in  the  meantime,  he  put  the  money  into  his 
velvet  hawking-pouch,  and  called  for  the  land- 
lord of  the  house,  in  order  to  restore  the  silver 
cup — resolving,  at  the  same  time,  to  ask  him 
some  questions  about  this  liberal  and  authorita- 
tive merchant. 

The  man  of  the  house  appeared  presently  ;  and, 
if  not  more  communicative,  was  at  least  more  lo- 


THE  DEJEUNER.  51 

quacious,  than  he  had  formerly  appeared.  He 
positively  declined  to  take  back  the  silver  cup. 
It  was  none  of  his,  he  said,  but  Maitre  Pierre's, 
who  had  bestowed  it  on  his  guest.  He  had,  in- 
deed, four  silver  hanaps  of  his  own,  which  had 
been  left  him  by  his  grandmother  of  happy  me- 
mory, but  no  more  like  the  beautiful  carving  of 
that  in  his  guest's  hand  than  a  peach  was  like  a 
turnip, — that  was  one  of  the  famous  cups  of 
Tours,  wrought  by  Martin  Dominique,  an  artist 
who  might  brag  all  Paris. 

'«  And  pray  who  is  this  Maitre  Pierre,"  said 
Durward,  interrupting  him,  "who  confers  such 
valuable  gifts  on  strangers  ?" 

"  Who  is  Maitre  Pierre  ?"  said  the  host, 
dropping  the  words  as  slowly  from  his  mouth  as 
if  he  had  been  distilling  them. 

"Ay,"  said,  Durward,  hastily  and  perempto- 
rily, "  who  is  this  Maitre  Pierre,  and  why  does 
he  throw  about  his  bounties  in  this  fashion  ?  And 
who  is  the  butcherly-looking  fellow  whom  he 
sent  forward  to  order  breakfast  ?" 

**  Why,  fair  sir,  as  to  who  Maitre  Pierre  is, 
you  should  have  asked  the  question  at  himself; 
and  for  the  gentleman  who  ordered  breakfast  to 
be  made  ready,  may  God  keep  us  from  his  closer 
acquaintance  !" 
.  *«  There  is  something  mysterious  in  all  this," 
said  the  young  Scot.  "This  Maitre  Pierre  tells 
me  he  is  a  merchant." 

"  And  if  he  told  you  so/'  said  the  innkeeper, 
"surely  he  is  a  merchant." 

"  What  commodities  does  he  deal  in?" 

"  O,  many  a  fair  matter  of  traffic,"  said  the 
host;  l<  and  specially  he  has  set  up  silk  manu- 
factories here,  which  match  those  rich  bales 
that  the  Venetians  bring  from  India  and  Cathay. 
You  might  see  the  rows  of  mulberry  trees  as  you 


52  THE  DEJEUNER. 

came  hither,  all  planted  by  Maitre  Pierre's  com- 
mands, to  feed  the  silk-worms." 

*<  And  that  young  person  who  brought  in  the 
confections,  who  is  she,  my  good  friend  ?"  said 
the  guest. 

"  My  lodger,  sir,  with  her  guardian,  some  sort 
of  aunt  or  kinswoman,  as  I  think,"  replied  the 
inn-keeper. 

"  And  do  you  usually  employ  your  guests  in 
waiting  on  each  other?"  said  Durward  ;  "  for  I 
observed  that  Maitre  Pierre  would  take  nothing 
from  your  hand,  or  that  of  your  attendant." 

"  Rich  men  may  have  their  fancies,  for  they 
can  pay  for  them,"  said  the  landlord  ;  "  this  is 
not  the  first  time  that  Maitre  Pierre  has  found 
the  true  way  to  make  gentlefolks  serve  at  his 
beck.'' 

The  young  Scotchman  felt  somewhat  offended 
at  the  insinuation  ;  but,  disguising  his  resent- 
ment, he  asked  whether  he  could  be  accommo- 
dated with  an  apartment  at  this  place  for  a  day, 
and  perhaps  longer. 

"  Certainly,"  the  innkeeper  replied ;  "  for 
whatever  time  he  was  pleased  to  command  it." 

*<  Could  he  be  permitted,"  he  asked,  <;  to  pay 
his  respects  to  the  ladies,  whose  fellow-lodger  he 
was  about  to  become  ? 

The  innkeeper  was  uncertain.  <c  They  went 
not  abroad,"  he  said,  "and  received  no  one  at 
home." 

'<  With  the  exception,  I  presume,  of  Maitre 
Pierre  ?"  said  Durward. 

"  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  name  any  exceptions," 
answered  the  man,  firmly,  but  respectfully. 

Quentin,  who  carried  the  notions  of  his  own 
importance  pretty  high,  considering  how  desti- 
tute he  was  of  means  to  support  them,  being 
somewhat  mortified  by  the  innkeeper's  reply,  did 


THE  DEJEUNER,  5L 

not  hesitate  to  avail  himself  of  a  practice  com- 
mon enough  in  that  age  ;  "  Carrv  to  the  ladies/' 
he  said,  "a  flask  of  vernat,  with  mv  humble 
duty;  and  say,  that  Quentin  Durward,  of  the 
house  of  Glen-houlakin,  a  Scottish  cavalier  of 
honour,  and  now  their  fellow-lodger,  desires  the 
permission  to  dedicate  his  homage  to  them  in  a 
personal  interview." 

The  messenger  departed,  and  returned  almost 
instantly  with  the  thanks  of  the  ladies,  who  de- 
clined  the  proffered  refreshment,  and,  returning 
their  thanks  to  the  Scottish  cavalier,  regretted 
that,  residing  there  in  privacy,  they  could  not 
receive  his  visit. 

Quentin  bit  his  lip,  took  a  cup  of  the  rejected 
verndt,  which  the  host  had  placed  on  the  table. 

u  By  the  mass  but  this  is  a  strange  country," 
said  he  to  himself,  <l  where  merchants  and  me- 
chanics exercise  the  manners  and  munificence  of 
nobles,  and  little  travelling  damsels,  who  hold 
their  court  in  a  cabaret,  keep  their  state  like  dis- 
guised princesses  !  I  will  see  that  black-browed 
maiden  again  or  it  will  go  hard,  however  ;*'  and 
having  formed  this  prudent  resolution,  he  de- 
manded to  be  conducted  to  the  apartment  which 
he  was  to  call  his  own. 

The  landlord  presently  ushered  him  up  a  tur- 
ret staircase,  and  from  thence  along  a  gallery, 
with  many  doors  opening  from  it,  like  those  of 
cells  in  a  convent;  a  resemblance  which  our 
young  hero,  who  recollected  with  much  ennui 
an  early  specimen  of  a  monastic  life,  was  far  from 
admiring.  The  host  paused  at  the  very  end  of 
the  gallery,  selected  a  key  from  the  large  bunch 
which  he  carried  at  his  girdle,  opened  the  door, 
and  shewed  his  guest  the  interior  of  a  turret- 
chamber,  small  indeed,  but  which,  being  clean 
and  solitary,  and  having  the  pallet  bed^  and  the 


54  THE  DEJEUNER. 

few  articles  of  furniture,  in  unusually  good  order, 
seemed,  on  the  whole,  a  little  palace. 

"  I  hope  you  will  find  your  dwelling  agreeable 
here,  fair  sir,"  said  the  landlord.—"  I  am  bound 
to  pleasure  every  friend  of  Maitre  Pierre." 

"  O  happy  ducking !»'  exclaimed  Quentin  Dur- 
ward,  cutting  a  caper  on  the  floor,  so  soon  as  his 
host  had  retired  :  u  Never  came  good  luck  in  a 
better  or  a  wetter  form.  I  have  been  fairly  de- 
luged by  my  good  fortune. r 

As  he  spoke  thus,  he  stepped  towards  the  little 
window,  which,  as  the  turret  projected  conside- 
rably from  the  principle  line  of  the  building,  not 
only  commanded  a  very  pretty  garden  of  some 
extent  belonging  to  the  inn,  but  overlooked,  be- 
yond its  boundary^  a  pleasant  grove  of  those  very 
mulberry  trees  which  Maitre  Pierre  was  said  to 
have  planted  for  the  support  of  the  silk-worm. 
Besides,  turning  the  eye  from  these  more  remote 
objects,  and  looking  straight  along  the  wall,  the 
turret  of  Quentin  was  opposite  to  another  turret, 
and  the  little  window  at  which  he  stood  com- 
manded a  similar  little  window,  in  a  correspond- 
ing projection  of  the  building.  Now  it  would 
be  difficult  for  a  man  twenty  years  older  than 
Quentin,  to  say  why  this  locality  interested  him 
more  than  either  the  pleasant  garden  or  the  grove 
of  mulberry  trees  ;  for  alas !  eyes  which  have 
been  used  for  forty  years  and  upwards,  look  with 
indifference  on  little  turret-windows,  though  the 
lattice  be  half  open  to  admit  the  air,  while  the 
shutter  is  half  closed  to  exclude  the  sun,  or  per- 
haps too  curious  eye — nay,  even  though  there 
hang  on  the  one  side  of  the  casement  a  lute, 
partly  mantled  by  a  light  veil  of  sea-green  silk. 
But  at  Durward's  happy  age  such  accidents, 
as  a  painter  would  call  them,  form  sufficient  foun- 
dation for  a  hundred  airy  visions  and  mysterious 


THE    DEJEUNER.  55 

conjectures,  at  recollection  of  which  the  full- 
grown  man  smiles  while  he  sighs,  and  sighs 
while  he  smiles. 

As  it  may  be  supposed  that  our  friend  Quentin 
wished  to  learn  a  little  more  of  his  fair  neighbour, 
the  owner  of  the  lute  and  veil, — as  it  may  be 
supposed  he  was  at  least  interested  to  know  whe- 
ther she  might  not  prove  the  same  whom  he  had 
seen  in  humble  attendance  on  Maitre  Pierre,  it 
must  of  course  be  understood,  that  he  did  not 
produce  a  broad,  flat,  staring  visage  and  person 
in  full  front  of  his  own  casement.  Durward 
knewr  better  the  art  of  bird-catching ;  and  it  was 
to  his  keeping  his  person  skilfully  withdrawn  on 
one  side  of  his  window,  while  he  peeped  through 
the  lattice,  that  he  owed  the  pleasure  of  seeing  a 
white,  round,  beautiful  arm  take  down  the  in- 
strument, and  that  his  ears  had  presently  after 
their  share  in  the  reward  of  his  dexterous  ma- 
nagement. 

The  maid  of  the  little  turret,  of  the  veil  and 
of  the  lute,  sung  exactly  such  a  little  air  as  we 
are  accustomed  to  suppose  flowed  from  the  lips 
of  the  high-born  dames  of  chivalry,  when  knights 
and  troubadours  listened  and  languished.  The 
words  had  neither  so  much  sense,  wit,  or  fancy 
as  to  withdraw  the  attention  from  the  music,  nor 
the  music  so  much  of  art,  as  to  drown  all  feeling 
of  the  words.  The  one  seemed  fitted  to  the 
other  ;  and  if  the  song  had  been  recited  without 
the  notes,  or  the  air  played  without  the  words, 
neither  would  have  been  worth  noting.  It  is, 
therefore,  scarce  fair  to  put  upon  record  lines  in- 
tended not  to  be  said  or  read,  but  only  to  be 
sung.  But  such  scraps  of  old  poetry  have  always 
had  a  sort  of  fascination  for  us ;  and  as  the  tune 
is  lost  for  ever — unless  Bishop  happens  to  find 
the  notes,  or  some  lark  teaches  Stephens  to  war- 


56  THE  DEJEUNER. 

ble  the  air— we  will  risk  our  credit,  and  the  taste 
of  the  lady  of  the  late,  by  preserving  the  verses, 
simple  and  even  rude  as  they  are. 

"  Ah  !  County  Guy,  the  hour  is  nigh, 

The  sun  has  left  the  lea, 
The  orange  flower  pei-fumes  the  bower, 

The  breeze  is  on  the  sea. 
The  lark  his  lay  who  thrill'd  all  day, 

Sits  hush'd  his  partner  nigh  ; 
Breeze,  bird,  and  flower,  they  know  the  hour, 

But  where  is  County  Guy  ? 
The  village  maid  steals  through  the  shade, 

Her  shepherd's  suit  to  hear  ; 
To  beauty  shy,  by  lattice  high, 

Sings  high-born  Cavalier. 
The  star  of  Love,  all  stars  above, 

Now  reigns  o'er  earth  and  sky  ; 
And  high  and  low  the  influence  know — 

But  where  is  County  Guy?" 

Whatever  the  reader  may  think  of  this  simple 
ditty,  it  had  a  powerful  effect  on  Quentin,  when 
married  to  heavenly  airs,  and  sung  by  a  sweet 
and  melting  voice,  the  notes  mingling  with  the 
gentle  breezes  which  wafted  perfumes  from  the 
garden,  and  the  figure  of  the  songstress  being  so 
partially  and  obscurely  visible,  as  threw  a  veil  of 
mysterious  fascination  over  the  whole. 

At  the  close  of  the  air,  the  listener  could  not 
help  shewing  himself  more  boldly  than  he  had 
yet  done,  in  a  rash  attempt  to  see  more  than  he 
had  yet  been  able  to  discover.  The  music  in- 
stantly ceased — the  casement  was  closed,  and  a 
dark  curtain,  dropped  on  the  inside,  put  a  stop  to 
all  further  observation  on  the  part  of  the  neigh- 
bour in  the  next  turret. 

Durward  was  mortified  and  surprised  at  the 
consequence  of  his  precipitance,  but  comforted 
himself  with  the  hope,  that  the  lady  of  the  lute 
could  neither  easily  forego  the  practice  of  an  in- 
strument which  seemed  so  familiar  to  her,  nor 


THE  MAN-AT-ARMS.  57 

u-uelly  resolve  to  renounce  the  pleasures  of  fresh 
air  and  an  open  window,  for  the  churlish  purpose 
of  preserving  for  her  own  exclusive  ear  the  sweet 
sounds  which  she  created.  There  came,  perhaps, 
a  little  feeling  of  personal  vanity  to  mingle  with 
these  consolatory  reflections.  If,  as  he  shrewdly 
suspected,  there  was  a  beautiful  dark-tressed 
damsel  inhabitant  of  the  one  turret,  he  could  not 
but  be  conscious  that  a  handsome,  young,  roving 
bright-locked  gallant,  a  cavalier  of  fortune,  was 
the  tenant  of  the  other  ;  and  romances,  those  pru- 
dent instructors,  had  taught  his  youth,  that  if 
damsels  were  shy,  they  were  yet  neither  void  of 
interest  nor  of  curiosity  in  their  neighbours'  af- 
fairs. 

Whilst  Quentin  was  engaged  in  these  sage  re- 
flections, a  sort  of  attendant  or  chamberlain  of 
the  inn  informed  him  that  a  cavalier  desired  to 
speak  with  him  below. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  MAX-AT-ARMS. 

— —  Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded  like  the  pard, 
Seeking  the  bubble  reputation  even  in  the  cannon's  mouth. 

As  You  Like  it. 

The  cavalier  who  awaited  Quentin  Durward's 
descent  into  the  apartment  where  he  had  break- 
fasted, was  one  of  those  of  whom  Louis  XI.  had 
long  since  said,  that  they  held  in  their  hands  the 
fortune  of  France,  as  to  them  were  entrusted  the 
direct  custody  and  protection  of  the  royal  person. 

Charles  the  Sixth  had  instituted  this  celebrated 
body,  the  Archers,  as  they  were   called,  of  the 


58  THE  MAN-AT-ARMS. 

Scottish  Body-guard,  with  better  reason  than 
can  generally  be  alleged  for  establishing  round 
the  throne  a  guard  of  foreign  and  mercenary 
troops.  The  divisions  which  tore  from  his  side 
more  than  half  of  France,  together  with  the  wa- 
vering and  uncertain  faith  of  the  nobility  who 
yet  acknowledged  his  cause,  rendered  it  impo- 
litic and  unsafe  to  commit  his  personal  safety  to 
their  keeping.  The  Scottish  nation  was  the  he- 
reditary enemy  of  the  English,  and  the  ancient, 
and,  as  it  seemed,  the  natural  allies  of  France. 
They  were  poor,  courageous,  faithful — their 
ranks  were  sure  to  be  supplied  from  the  super- 
abundant population  of  their  own  country,  than 
which  none  in  Europe  sent  forth  more  or  bolder 
adventurers.  Their  high  claims  of  descent,  too, 
gave  them  a  good  title  to  approach  the  person  of 
a  monarch  more  closely  than  other  troops,  while 
the  smallness  of  their  numbers  prevented  the 
possibility  of  their  mutinying,  and  becoming 
masters  where  they  ought  to  be  servants. 

On  the  other  hand  the  French  monarchs  made 
it  their  policy  to  conciliate  the  affections  of  this 
selected  band  of  foreigners,  by  allowing  them  ho- 
norary privileges  and  ample  pay,  which  last  most 
of  them  disposed  of  with  military  profusion  in 
supporting  their  supposed  rank.  Each  of  them 
ranked  as  a  gentleman  in  place  and  honour  ;  and 
their  near  approach  to  the  King's  person  gave 
them  dignity  in  their  own  eyes,  as  well  as  in  those 
of  the  nation  of  France.  They  were  sumptuously 
armed,  equipped,  and  mounted  ;  and  each  was 
entitled  to  allowance  for  a  squire,  a  valet,  a  page, 
and  two  yeoman,  one  of  whom  was  termed  cou- 
telier,  from  the  large  knife  which  he  wore  to  dis- 
patch those  whom  in  the  melee  his  master  had 
thrown  to  the  ground.  With  these  followers,  and 
a  corresponding  equipage,  an  Archer  of  the  Scot- 


THE    MAN-AT-ARMS.  59 

tish  guard  was  a* person  of  quality  and  import- 
ance ;  and  vacancies  being  generally  filled  up  by 
those  who  had  been  trained  in  the  service  as  pa- 
ges or  valets,  the  cadets  of  the  best  Scottish  fa- 
milies were  often  sent  to  serve  under  some  friend 
and  relation  in  those  capacities,  until  a  chance  of 
preferment  should  occur. 

The  coutelier  and  his  companion,  not  being 
noble  or  capable  of  this  promotion,  were  recruit- 
ed from  persons  of  inferior  quality  ;  but  as  their 
pay  and  appointments  were  excellent,  their  mas- 
ters were  easily  able  to  select  from  among  their 
wandering  countrymen  the   strongest  and   most 
courageous  to  wait  upon  them  in  that  capacity. 
Ludovic  Leslie,  or,  as  we  shall  more  frequently 
call  him,  Le  Balafre,  by  which  name  he  was  ge- 
nerally known  in  France,  was  upwards  of  six  feet 
high,  robust,  strongly  compacted  in  person,  and 
hard-favoured  in  countenance,  which  latter  attri- 
bute was  much  increased  by  a  large  and  ghastly 
scar,  which,  beginning  on  his  forehead,  and  nar- 
rowly missing  his  right  eye,  had  laid  bare  the 
cheek-bone,  and  descended  from  thence  almost  to 
the  tip  of  his  ear,  exhibiting  a  deep  seam,  which 
was  sometimes  scarlet,  sometimes  purple,  some- 
times blue,  and  sometimes  approaching  to  black; 
but  always  hideous,  because  at  variance  with  the 
complexion  of  the  face  in  whatever  state  it  chanc- 
ed to  be,  whether  agitated  or  still,  flushed  with 
unusual  passion,  or  in  its  ordinary  state  of  wea- 
ther-beaten and  sun-burnt  swarthiness. 

His  dress  and  arms  were  splendid.  He  wore 
his  national  bonnet,  crested  with  a  tuft  of  fea- 
thers, and  with  a  Virgin  Mary  of  massive  silver 
for  a  brooch.  These  had  been  presented  to  the 
Scottish  Guard,  in  consequence  of  the  King,  in 
one  of  his  fits  of  superstitious  piety,  having  de- 
voted the  swords  of  his  guard  to  the  service  of 


60  THE    MAN-AT-ARMS. 

the  Holy  Virgin,  and,  as  some  say,  carried  the 
matter  so  far  as  to  draw  out  a  commission  to  Our 
Lady  as  their  Captain  General.  The  Archer's 
gorget,  arm-pieces,  and  gauntlets,  were  of  the 
finest  steel,  curiously  inlaid  with  silver,  and  his 
hauberk,  or  shirt  of  mail,  was  as  clear  and  bright 
as  the  frost  work  of  a  winter  morning  upon  fern 
or  briar.  He  wore  a  loose  surcoat,  or  cassock, 
of  rich  blue  velvet,  open  at  the  sides  like  that  of 
a  herald,  with  a  large  white  cross  of  embroidered 
silver  bisecting  it  both  before  and  behind — his 
knees  and  legs  were  protected  by  hose  of  mail 
and  shoes  of  steel — a  broad  strong  poniard  (called 
the  Mercy  of  God)  hung  by  his  right  side — the 
bauldrick  for  his  two-handed  sword,  richly  em- 
broidered, hung  upon  his  left  shoulder  ;  but,  for 
convenience,  he  at  present  carried  in  his  hand  that 
unwieldy  weapon,  which  the  rules  of  his  service 
forbade  him  to  lay  aside. 

Quentin  Durward,  though,  like  the  Scottish 
youth  of  the  period,  he  had  been  early  taught 
to  look  upon  arms  and  war,  thought  he  had  ne- 
ver seen  a  more  martial-looking,  or  more  com- 
pletely equipped  and  accomplished  man-at-arms, 
than  now  saluted  him  in  the  person  of  his  mo- 
ther's brother,  called  Ludovic  with  the  Scar,  or 
Le  Balafre  ;  yet  he  could  not  but  shrink  a  little 
from  the  grim  expression  of  his  countenance, 
while,  with  its  rough  moustachios,  he  brushed 
first  the  one  and  then  the  other  cheek  of  his 
kinsman,  welcomed  his  fair  nephew  to  France, 
and,  in  the  same  breath,  asked  what  news  from 
Scotland. 

"  Little  good,  dear  uncle,"  replied  young  Dur- 
ward ;  a  but  I  am  glad  that  you  know  me  so  rea- 
dily." 

"  I  would  have  known  thee,  boy,  in  the  landes 
of  Bourdeaux,  had   I   met  thee  marching  there 


THE    MAN-AT-ARMS.  61 

like  a  crane  on  a  pair  of  stilts.  But  sit  thee  down 
— sit  thee  down — if  there  is  sorrow  to  hear  of,  we 
will  have  wine  to  make  us  bear  it. — Ho !  old 
Pinch- Measure,  our  good  host,  bring  us  of  thy 
best,  and  that  in  an  instant." 

The  well-known  sound  of  the  Scottish-French 
was  as  familiar  in  the  taverns  near  Plessis,  as 
that  of  the  Swiss-French  in  the  modern  gin- 
guettes  of  Paris  ;  and  promptly — ay,  with  the 
promptitude  of  fear  and  precipitation,  was  it 
heard  and  obeyed.  A  flagon  of  Champagne  soon 
stood  before  them,  of  which  the  elder  took  a 
draught,  while  the  nephew  helped  himself  only 
to  a  moderate  sip,  to  acknowlege  his  uncle's  cour- 
tesy, saying  in  excuse,  that  he  had  already  drank 
wine  that  morning. 

44  That  had  been  a  rare  apology  in  the  mouth 
of  thy  sister,  fair  nephew,"  said  J,e  Balafre  ; 
44  you  must  fear  the  wine-pot  less,  if  you  would 
wear  beard  on  your  face,  and  write  yourself  sol- 
dier. But,  come — come — unbuckle  your  Scot- 
tish mail-bag — give  us  the  news  from  Glen-hou- 
lakin — how  doth  my  sister?" 

«  Dead,  fair  uncle,"  answered  Quentin,  sor- 
rowfully. 

44  Dead  l"  echoed  his  uncle,  with  a  tone  rather 
marked  by  wonder  than  sympathy — «*■  why,  she 
was  five  years  younger  than  I,  and  I  was  never 
better  in  my  life.  Dead  !  the  thing  is  impossi- 
ble. I  have  never  had  so  much  as  a  head-ache* 
unless  after  revelling  out  my  two  or  three  days' 
furlow  with  the  brethren  of  the  joyous  science — 
and  my  poor  sister  is  dead  ! — And  your  father, 
fair  nephew,  hath  he  married  again  r" 

And,  ere  the  youth  could  reply,  he  read  the 
answer  in  his  surprise  at  the  question,  and  said, 
44  What,  no? — I  would  have  sworn  that  Allan 
Durward  was  no  man  to  live  without  a  wife.   He 

Vol.  I— 6 


62  THE    MAN-AT-ARMS. 

loved  to  have  his  house  in  order — loved  to  look 
on  a  pretty  woman  too  ;  and  was  somewhat  strict 
in  life  withal — matrimony  did  all  this  for  him. 
Now,  I  care  little  about  these  comforts  ;  and  I 
can  look  on  a  pretty  woman  without  thinking  on 
the  sacrament  of  wedlock — I  am  scarce  holy 
enough  for  that." 

«l  Alas  !  dear  uncle,  my  mother  was  left  a  wi- 
dow a  year  since,  when  Glen-houlakin  was  har- 
ried by  the  Ogilgives.  My  father,  and  my  two 
uncles,  and  my  two  elder  brothers,  and  seven 
of  my  kinsmen,  and  the  harper,  and  the  tasker, 
and  some  six  more  of  our  people,  were  killed 
in  defending  the  castle:  and  there  is  not  a  bur- 
ning hearth  or  a  standing  stone  in  all  Glen-hou- 
lakin." 

'«  Cross  of  Saint  Andrew  !"  said  Le  Balafre  ; 
«■<  that  is  what  I  call  an  onslaught.  Ay,  these 
Ogilvies  were  ever  but  sorry  neighbours  to  Glen- 
houlakin — an  evil  chance  it  was  ;  but  fate  of  war 
— fate  of  war. — When  did  this  mishap  befall,  fair 
nephew?"  With  that  he  took  a  deep  draught  of 
wine  in  lieu,  and  shook  his  head  with  much  so- 
lemnity, when  his  kinsman  replied,  that  his  family 
had  been  destroyed  on  the  festival  of  Saint  Jude 
last  bye-past. 

"  Look  ye  there,"  said  the  soldier  ;  "  I  said  it 
was  all  chance — on  that  very  day  I  and  twenty  of 
my  comrades  carried  the  Castle  of  Roche-noir  by 
storm,  from  Amaury  Bras-dt-fer,  a  captain  of 
free  lances,  whom  you  must  have  heard  of.  I 
killed  him  on  his  own  threshold,  and  gained  as 
much  gold  as  made  this  fair  chain,  which  was 
once  twice  as  long  as  it  now  is — and  that  minds 
me  to  send  part  of  it  on  an  holy  errand.  Here, 
Andrew — Andrew  ?" 

Andrew,  his  yeoman,  entered,  dressed  like  the 
Archer  himself  in  the  general  equipment,    but 


THE  MAN-AT-ARMS.  63 

without  the  armour  for  the  limbs, — that  of  the 
body  more  coarsely  manufactured — his  cap  with- 
out a  plume,  and  his  cassock  made  of  serge,  or 
coarse  cloth,  instead  of  rich  velvet.  Untwining 
his  gold  chain  from  his  neck,  Balafre*  twisted  off, 
with  his  firm  and  strong  set-teeth,  about  four  in- 
ches from  the  one  end  of  it,  and  said  to  his  atten- 
dant, *«  Here  Andrew,  carry  this  to  my  gossip, 
jolly  Father  Boniface,  the  monk  of  Saint  Mar- 
tin's— greet  him  well  from  me,  by  the  same  to- 
ken that  he  could  not  say  God  save  ye  when  we 
last  parted  at  midnight — Tell  my  gossip  that  my 
brother  and  sister,  and  some  others  of  my  house, 
are  all  dead  and  gone,  and  I  pray  him  to  say  mas- 
ses for  their  souls  as  far  as  the  value  of  these 
links  will  carry  him,  and  to  do  on  trust  what  else 
may  be  necessary  to  free  them  from  purgatory. 
And  hark  ye,  as  they  were  just  living  people,  and 
free  from  all  heresy,  it  may  be  that  they  are  well 
nigh  out  of  limbo  already,  so  that  a  little  matter 
may  have  them  free  of  the  fetlocks  ;  and  in  that 
case,  look  ye,  ye  will  say  I  desire  to  take  out  the 
gold  in  curses  upon  a  generation  called  the 
Ogilvies,  in  what  way  soever  the  church  may 
best  come  at  them.  You  understand  all  this, 
Andrew  ?" 

The  coutelier  nodded. 

"  Then  look  that  none  of  the  links  find  their 
way  to  the  wine  house  ere  the  monk  touches 
them  ;  for  if  it  so  chance,  thou  shall  taste  of  sad- 
dle girth  and  stirrup-leather,  till  thou  art  as  raw 

as  Saint  Bartholomew Yet  hold,  I  see  thy  eye 

has  fixed  on  the  wine   measure,  and  thou  shalt 

not  go  without  tanting." 

So  saying,  he  filled  him  a  brimful  cup,  which 
the  coutelier  drank  off,  and  retired  to  do  his  pa- 
tron's commission, 


64  THE  MAN-AT-ARMS. 

'«  And  now  fair  nephew,  let  us  hear  what  was 
your  own  fortune  in  this  unhappy  matter. " 

u  I  fought  it  out  among  those  who  were  ol- 
der and  stouter  than  I  was,  till  we  were  all 
brought  down,"  said  Durward,  "  and  I  received 
a  cruel  wound." 

<*  Not  a  worse  slash  than  I  received  ten  years 
since  myself,"  said  Le  Balafre. — "  Look  at 
this  now,  my  fair  nephew,"  tracing  the  dark 
crimson  gash  which  was  imprinted  on  his  face — 
»*  An  Ogilvy's  sword  never  ploughed  so  deep  a 
furrow." 

u  They  ploughed  deeply  enough,"  answered 
Quentin,  sadly  ;  "  but  they  were  tired  at  last, 
and  my  mother's  entreaties  procured  mercy  for 
me,  when  I  was  found  to  retain  some  spark  of 
life  ;  but  although  a  learned  monk  of  Aberbro- 
thock,  who  chanced  to  be  our  guest  at  the  fatal 
time,  and  narrowly  escaped  being  killed  in  the 
fray,  was  permitted  to  bind  my  wounds  and  finally 
to  remove  me  to  a  place  of  safety,  it  was  only  on 
promise,  given  both  by  my  mother  and  him,  that 
I  should  become  a  monk." 

"  A  monk  !"  exclaimed  the  uncle — "  Holy 
Saint  Andrew  !  that  is  what  never  befel  me.  No 
one,  from  my  childhood  upwards,  ever  so  much 
as  dreamed  of  making  me  a  monk — And  yet  I 
wonder  when  I  think  of  it ;  for  you  will  allow 
that,  bating  the  reading  and  writing,  which  I 
could  never  learn,  and  the  psalmody,  which  I 
could  never  endure,  and  the  dress,  which  is  that 
of  a  mad  beggar — our  Lady  forgive  me  ! — (here 
he  crossed  himself) — and  their  fasts,  which  do 

not    Suit  my  appetite,  I  would    have    made  every 

whit  as  good  a  monk  as  my  little  gossip  at  Saint 
Martin's  yonder.  But  I  know  not  why,  none 
ever  proposed  the   station  to   me. — O   so,  fair 


THE  MAN-AT-ARMS.  65 

nephew,    you    were    to    be    a    monk    then — :md 
wherefore,  I  pray  you:" 

"  That  my  father's  house  might  be  ended, 
either  in  the  cloister  or  in  the  tomb,"  answered 
Quentin,  with  deep  fceiing. 

4«  I  see,"  answered  his  uncle — u  I  comprehend. 
Cunning  rogues — very  cunning  ! — They  might 
have  been  cheated  though  -s  for  look  ye,  fair 
nephew,  I  myself  remember  the  canon  Kobersart 
who  had  taken  the  vows,  and  afterwards  broke 
out  of  cloister,  and  became  a  captain  of  Free 
Companions.  He  had  a  mistress,  the  prettiest 
wench  i  ever  saw,  and  three  as  beautiful  chil- 
dren— There  is  no  trusting  monks,  fair  nephew, 
— no  trusting  them — they  may  become  soldiers 
and  fathers  when  you  least  expect  it — but  on 
with  your  tale/' 

*<  I  have  little  more  to  tell,"  said  Durward, 
kl  except  that,  considering  my  poor  mother  in 
some  degree  a  pledge  for  me,  I  took  the  dress  of 
a  novice,  and  conformed  to  the  cloister  rules, 
and  even  learned  to  read  and  write." 

"  To  read  and  write  !'*  exclaimed  Le  Balafre, 
who  was  one  of  those  sort  of  people  who  think 
all  knowledge  is  miraculous  which  chances  to  ex- 
ceed their  own — «l  To  write,  sayst  thou,  and  to 
read  !  I  cannot  believe  it — never  Durward  could 
write  his  name  that  ever  I  heard  of,  nor  Lesly 
either.  I  can  answer  for  one  of  them — -I  can 
no  more  write  than  I  can  fly.  Now,  in  Saint 
Louis's  name,  how  did  they  teach   it  you  ?" 

u  It  was  troublesome  at  first,"  said  Durward, 
«l  but  became  more  easy  by  use  ;  and  I  was  weak 
with  my  wounds  and  loss  of  blood,  and  desirous 
to  gratify  my  preserver,  Father  Peter,  and  so  I 
was  the  more  easily  kept  to  my  task.  But  after 
several  months'  languishing,  my  good  kind  mo- 
6f 


66  THE  MAN-AT-ARMS. 

ther  died,  and  as  my  health  was  now  fully  re- 
stored, I  communicated  to  my  benefactor,  who 
was  also  Sub-Prior  of  the  Convent,  my  reluc- 
tance to  take  the  vows  ;  and  it  was  agreed  be- 
tween us,  since  my  vocation  lay  not  to  the  clois- 
ter, that  I  should  be  sent  out  into  the  world  to 
seek  my  fortune,  and  that,  to  save  the  Sub-Prior 
from  the  anger  of  the  Ogilvies,  my  departure 
should  have  the  appearance  of  flight ;  and  to  co- 
lour it,  I  brought  off  the  Abbot's  hawk  with 
me.  But  I  was  regularly  dismissed,  as  will  ap- 
pear from  the  hand  and  seal  of  the  Abbot  him- 
self." 

"That  is  right — that  is  well,"  said  his  uncle. 
<<  Our  King  cares  little  what  theft  thou  may'st 
have  made,  but  hath  a  horror  at  any  thing  like  a 
breach  of  the  cloister.  And,  1  warrant  thee, 
thou  hadst  no  great  treasure*to  bear  thy  charges  ?" 
*«  Only  a  few  pieces  of  silver,"  said  the  youth  ; 
"  for  to  you,  fair  uncle,  I  must  make  a  free  con- 
fession." 

"  Alas !"  replied  Le  Balafre,  l<  that  is  hard. 
Now,  though  I  am  never  a  hoarder  of  my  pay, 
because  it  doth  ill  to  bear  a  charge  about  one  in 
these  perilous  times,  yet  I  always  have  (and  I 
would  advise  you  to  follow  my  example)  some 
odd  gold  chain  or  bracelet,  or  carcanet,  that 
serves  for  the  ornament  of  my  person,  and  can 
at  need  spare  a  superfluous  link  or  two  for  any 
immediate  purpose. — But  you  may  ask,  fair  kins- 
man, how  you  are  to  come  by  such  toys  at  this? 
-^(he  shook  his  chain  with  complacent  triumph) 
— They  hang  not  on  every  bush — they  grow  not 
in  the  fields  like  the  daffodils,  with  whose  stalks 
children  make  knights'  collars.  What  then  ?— . 
you  may  get  such  were  I  got  this,  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  good  King  of  France,  where  there  is 


THE  MAN-AT-ARMS.  67 

always  wealth  to  be  found,  if  a  man  has  but  the 
heart  to  seek  it,  at  the  risk  of  a  little  life  or  so.'* 

l<  I  understood,"  said  Quentin,  evading  a  de- 
cision to  which  he  felt  himself  as  yet  scarce  com- 
petently informed,  "that  the  Duke  of  Burgundy 
keeps  a  more  noble  state  than  the  King  of  France, 
and  that  there  is  more  honour  to  be  won  under 
his  banners — that  good  blows  are  struck  there, 
and  deeds  of  arms  done  ;  while  the  Most  Chris- 
tian King,  they  say,  gains  his  victories  by  his 
ambassador's  tongues." 

"  You  speak  like  a  foolish  boy,  fair  nephew," 
answered  he  with  the  Scar  ;  "  and  yet,  I  bethink 
me,  when  I  came  hither  I  was  nearly  as  simple  : 
I  could  never  think  of  a  King  but  what  I  sup- 
posed him  sitting  under  the  high  deas,  and  feast- 
ing amid  his  high  vassals  and  Paladins,  eating 
blanc-manger,  with  a  great  gold  crown  upon  his 
head,  or  else  charging  at  the  head  of  his  troops 
like  Charlemagne  in  the  romaunts,  or  like  Robert 
Bruce  or  William  Wallace  in  our  own  true  his- 
tories. Hark  in  thine  ear,  man —  it  is  all  moon- 
shine in  the  water.  Policy — policy  does  it  all. 
It  is  an  art  our  King  has  found  out,  to  fight 
with  other  men's  swords,  and  to  wage  his  soldiers 
out  of  other  men's  purses.  Ah  !  it  is  the  wisest 
Prince  that  ever  put  purple  on  his  back — and  yet 
he  wearetti  not  much  of  that  neither — I  see  him 
often  go  plainer  than  I  would  think  befitted  me 
to  do." 

"  But  you  meet  not  my  exception,  fair  uncle," 
answered  young  Durward ;  «4  I  would  serve, 
since  serve  I  must  in  a  foreign  land,  somewhere 
where  a  brave  deed,  were  it  my  hap  to  do  one, 
might  work  me  a  name." 

4«  I  understand  you,  my  fair  nephew,"  said  the 
royal  man-at-arms,  "  I  understand  you  passing 
well  y  but  you  are  unripe  in  these  matters.     The 


68  THE  MAN-AT-ARMS. 

Duke  of  Burgundy  is  a  hot-headed,  impetuous, 
pudden-headed,  iron-ribbed  dare  all.  He  charges 
at  the  head  of  his  nobles  and  native  knights, 
his  liegemen  of  Artois  and  Hainault ;  think  you, 
if  you  were  there,  or  if  I  were  there  myself,  that 
we  could  be  much  farther  forward  than  the  Duke 
and  all  his  brave  nobles  of  his  own  land  ?  if  we 
were  not  up  with  them,  we  had  a  chance  to  be 
turned  on  the  Provost  Marshall's  hands  for  being 
slow  in  making  to  ;  if  we  were  abreast  of  them, 
all  would  be  called  well,  and  we  might  be 
thought  to  have  deserved  our  pay  ;  and  grant 
that  I  was  a  spears-length  or  so  in  the  front, 
which  is  both  difficult  and  dangerous  in  such  a 
melee,  where  all  do  their  best,  why,  my  lord 
duke  says,  in  his  Flemish,  when  he  sees  a  good 
blow  struck,  «  Ha  !  gut  getrojfen  !  a  good  lance 
— a  brave  Scot — give  him  a  florin  to  drink  our 
health  ;'  but  neither  rank,  nor  lands,  nor  treasures, 
come  to  the  stranger  in  such  a  service — all  goes 
to  the   children  of  the  soil. 

*c  And  where  should  it  go,  in  heaven's  name, 
fair  uncle  V9  demanded  young  Durward. 

<<  To  him  that  protects  the  children  of  the 
soil"  said  Balafre,  drawing  up  his  gigantic 
height.  "Thus  says  King  Louis: — My  good 
French  peasant— -mine  honest  Jacques  Bon- 
homme — get  you  to  your  tools,  your  plough  and 
your  harrow,  your  pruning  knife  and  your  hoe 
— here  is  my  gallant  Scot  that  will  fight  for  you, 
and  you  shall  only  have  the  trouble  to  pay  him — 
And  you,  my  most  serene  duke,  my  illustrious 
count,  and  my  most  mighty  marquis,  even  rein 
up  your  fiery  courage  till  it  is  wanted,  for  it  is 
apt  to  start  out  of  the  course,  and  to  hurt  its 
master;  here  are  my  companies  of  ordonance — 
here  are  my  French  Guards — here  are,  above 
all,  my  Scottish  Archers,  and  mine  honest  Lu- 


THE  MAN-AT-ARMS.  69 

dovic  with  the  Scar,  who  will  fight  as  well  or 
better  than  you,  with  all  that  undisciplined  va- 
lour which,  in  your  father's  time,  lost  Cressy  and 
Azincour.'  Now,  see  you  not  in  which  of  these 
states  a  cavalier  of  fortune  holds  the  highest  rank, 
and  must  come  to  the  highest  honour  V 

"  I  think  I  understand  you,  fair  uncle,"  an- 
swered the  nephew  ;  but,  in  my  mind,  honour 
cannot  be  won  where  there  is  no  risk.  Sure,  this 
is — I  pray  you  pardon  me — an  easy  and  almost 
slothful  life,  to  mount  guard  round  an  elderly 
man  whom  no  one  thinks  of  harming,  to  spend 
summer-day  and  winter-night  up  in  yonder  bat- 
tlements, and  shut  up  all  the  while  in  iron  cages, 
for  fear  you  should  desert  your  posts — uncle, 
uncle,  it  is  but  the  hawk  upon  his  perch,  who  is 
never  carried  out  to  the  fields  !" 

"  Now,  by  Saint  Martin  of  Tours,  the  boy 
has  some  spirit!  a  right  touch  of  the  Lesly  in 
him  ;  much  like  myself,  though  always  with  a 
little  more  folly  in  it.  Hark  ye,  youth' — Long 
live  the  King  of  France ! — scarce  a  day  but  there 
is  some  commission  in  hand,  by  which  some  of 
his  followers  may  win  both  coin  and  credit.  Think 
not  that  the  bravest  and  most  dangerous  deeds 
are  done  by  daylight.  I  could  tell  you  of  some, 
as  scaling  castles,  making  prisoners,  and  the  like, 
where  one  who  shall  be  nameless  hath  run  higher 
risk,  and  gained  greater  favour  than  any  des- 
perado in  the  train  of  desperate  Charles  of  Bur- 
gundy. And  if  it  please  his  Majesty  to  remain 
behind,  and  in  the  back-ground,  while  such  things 
are  doing,  he  hath  the  more  leisure  of  spirit  to 
admire,  ana  tne  more  liberality  of  hand  to  re- 
ward the  adventurers,  whose  dangers  perhaps, 
and  whose  feats  of  arms,  he  can  better  judge  of 
than  if  he  had  personally  shared  them.  O,  'tis 
a  sagacious  and  most  politic  monarch  \" 


70  THE  MAN-AT-ARMS. 

His  nephew  paused,  and  then  said,  in  a  low 
but  impressive  tone  of  voice,  u  The  good  father 
Peter  used  often  to  teach  me  there  might  be 
much  danger  in  deeds  by  which  little  glory  was 
acquired.  I  need  not  say  to  you,  fair  uncle,  that 
I  do  in  course  suppose  that  these  secret  commis- 
sions must  needs  be  honourable." 

"  For  whom  or  for  what  take  you  me,  fair 
nephew  ?"  said  Baiafre,  somewhat  sternly  ;  "  I 
have  not  been  trained,  indeed  in  the  cloister, 
neither  can  I  write  or  read.  But  I  am  your  mo- 
ther's brother  ;  I  am  a  loyal  Lesly.  Think  you 
that  I  am  like  to  recommend  to  you  any  thing 
unworthy?  The  best  knight  in  France,  De 
Guesclin  himself,  if  he  were  alive  again,  might 
be  proud  to  number  my  deeds  among  his  achieve- 
ments. 

"  I  cannot  doubt  your  warranty,  fair  uncle," 
said  the  youth  j  "  you  are  the  only  adviser  my 
mishap  has  left  me.  But  is  it  true,  as  fame  says, 
that  this  king  keeps  a  meagre  court  here  at  his 
Castle  of  Plessis?  No  repair  of  nobles  or  courtiers, 
none  of  his  grand  feudatories  in  attendance,  none 
of  the  high  officers  of  the  crown  ;  half  solitary 
sports,  shared  only  with  the  menials  of  his  house- 
hold ;  secret  councils,  to  which  only  low  and 
obscure  men  are  invited  ;  rank  and  nobility  de- 
pressed, and  men  raised  from  the  lowest  origin 
to  the  kingly  favour — -all  this  seems  unregulated, 
resembles  not  the  manners  of  his  father,  the  noble 
Charles,  who  tore  from  the  fangs  of  the  English 
lion  this  more  than  half-conquered  kingdom  of 
France." 

"  You  speak  like  a  giddy  child,"  saia  JL,e  &a- 
lafre,  "  and  even  as  a  child  you  harp  over  the 
same  notes  on  a  new  string.  Look  you  :  if  the 
King  employs  Oliver  Dain,  his  barber,  to  do 
what  Oliver  can  do  better  than  any  peer  of  them 


THE  MAN-AT-ARMS.  71 

all,  is  not  the  kingdom  the  gainer?     If  he  bids 
his   stout  Provost-Marshal  Tristan,   arrest  such 
or  such  a   seditious    burgher,  take   off  such  or 
such  a  turbulent  noble,  the   deed    is   done,  and 
no  more  of  it ;  when,  were  the  commission  given 
to  a  duke  or  peer  of  France,  he  might  perchance 
send  the  King  back  a  defiance  in  exchange.      If, 
again,  the  King  pleases  to  give  to  plain  Ludovic 
le  Balafre  a  commission  which  he  will  execute, 
instead  of  employing  the  high    constable,   who 
would  perhaps  betray  it,  doth  it  not  shew  wis- 
dom ?      Above  all,  doth  not  a  monarch  of  such 
conditions   best  suit  cavaliers  of  fortune,   who 
must  go  where   their  services   are  most  highly 
prised,  and  most   frequently  in  demand? — No, 
no,  child,  I  tell  thee  Louis  knows  how  to  choose 
his  confidants,  and  what   to   charge  them   with  ; 
suiting,  as  they  say,  the  burthen  to  each   man's 
back.     He  is  not  like  the  King  of  Castile,  who 
choked  of  thirst,  because  the   great  butler  was 
not  beside  to  hand  his  cup. — But  hark  to  the  bell 
of  Saint  Martins !      I   must   hasten    back  to  the 
castle. — Farewel — make  much  of  yourself,  and 
at  eight  to-morrow  morning  present  yourself  be- 
fore the  drawbridge,  and  ask  for  me  at  the  centi- 
nel.     Take  heed  ye  step  not  off  the  straight  and 
beaten  path  in  approaching   the  portal  !    it  may 
cost  you  a  limb,  which  you  will  sorely  miss.  You 
shall   see  the  king,  and  learn  to  judge  him  for 
yourself — farewel." 

So  saying,  Balafre  hastily  departed,  forgetting 
in  his  hurry,  to  pay  for  the  wine  he  had  called 
for,  a  shortness  of  memory  incidental  to  persons 
of  his  description,  and  which  his  host,  overawed, 
perhaps,  by  the  nodding  bonnet  and  ponderous 
two-handed  sword,  did  not  presume  to  use  any 
efforts  for  correcting. 

It  might  have  been   expected  that,  when  left 


72  THE    BOHEMIANS. 

alone,  Durward  would  have  again  betaken  him- 
self to  his  turret,  in  order  to  watch  for  the  repe- 
tition of  those  delicious  sounds  which  had  soothed 
his  morning  reverie.  But  that  was  a  chapter  of 
romance,  and  his  uncle's  conversation  had  opened 
to  him  a  page  of  the  real  history  of  life.  It  was 
no  pleasing  one,  and  for  the  present  the  recollec- 
tions and  reflections  which  it  excited,  were  quali- 
fied to  overpower  other  thoughts,  and  especially- 
all  of  a  light  and  soothing  nature. 

Quentin  resorted  to  a  solitary  walk  along  the 
banks  of  the  rapid  Cher,  having  previously  in- 
quired of  his  landlord  for  one  which  he  might 
traverse  without  fear  of  disagreeable  interruption 
from  snares  and  pitfalls,  and  there  endeavoured 
to  compose  his  turmoiled  and  scattered  thoughts, 
and  consider  his  future  motions,  upon  whicji  his 
meeting  with  his  uncle  had  thrown  some  dubiety. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE  BOHEMIANS. 

Sae  rantingly,  sae  wantonly, 

Sae  dantonly  gaed  he, 
He  play '(I  a  spring,  and  danced  a  round 

Beneaih  the  gallows  tree. 

Old  Song. 

The  manner  in  which  Quentin  Durward  had 
been  educated,  was  not  of  a  kind  to  soften  the 
heart,  or  perhaps  to  improve  the  moral  feeling. 
He,  with  the  rest  of  his  family,  had  been  trained 
to  the  chase  as  an  amusement,  and  taught  to  con- 
sider war  as   their  only  serious  occupation,  and 


THE  BOHEMIAN'S.  73 

that  it  was  the  great  duty  of  their  lives  stubbornly 
to  endure,  and  fiercely  to  retaliate,  the  attacks  of 
their  feudal  enemies,  by  whom  their  race  had 
been  at  last  almost  annihilated.  And  yet  there 
mixed  with  these  feuds  a  spirit  of  rude  chivalry, 
and  even  courtesy,  which  softened  their  rigour ; 
so  that  revenge,  their  only  justice,  was  still  pro- 
secuted with  some  regard  to  humanity  and  ge- 
nerosity. The  lessons  of  the  worthy  old  monk, 
better  attended  to,  perhaps,  during  a  long  illness 
and  adversity?  than  they  might  have  been  in 
health  and  success,  had  given  young  Durward 
still  farther  insight  into  the  duties  of  humanity 
towards  others ;  and,  considering  the  ignorance 
of  the  period,  the  general  prejudices  entertained 
in  favour  of  a  military  life,  and  the  manner  in 
which  he  himself  had  been  bred,  the  youth  was 
^disposed  to  feel  more  accurately  the  moral  duties 
Encumbent  on  his  station  than  was  usual  at  the 
time. 

He  reflected  on  his  interview  with  his  uncle 
with  a  sense  of  embarrassment  and  disappoint- 
ment. His  hopes  had  been  high  ;  for  although 
intercourse  by  letters  was  out  of  the  question, 
yet  a  pilgrim,  or  an  adventurous  trafficker,  or  a 
crippled  soldier,  sometimes  brought  Lesly's  name 
to  Glen-houlakin,  and  all  united  in  praising  his 
undaunted  courage,  and  his  success  in  many 
petty  enterprises  which  his  master  had  entrusted 
to  him.  Quentin's  imagination  had  filled  up  the 
sketch  in  his  own  way,  and  assimilated  his  suc- 
cessful and  adventurous  uncle  (whose  exploits 
probably  lost  nothing  in  the  telling)  to  some  of 
the  champions  and  knight-errants  of  whom  min- 
strels sang,  and  who  won  crowns  and  kings' 
daughters  by  dint  of  sword  and  lance.  He  was 
now  compelled  to  rank  his  kinsman  much  lower 
in  the  scale  of  chivalry  j  though  blinded  by  the 

Vol.  I.— 7 


74  THE     BOHEMIANS. 

high  respect  paid  to  parents,  and  those  who  aj> 
proach  that  character — moved  by  every  early 
prejudice  in  his  favour — inexperienced  besides, 
and  passionately  attached  to  his  mother's  me- 
mory, he  saw  not,  in  the  only  brother  of  that 
dear  relation,  the  character  which  he  truly  held, 
which  was  that  of  an  ordinary  mercenary  soldier, 
neither  much  worse  nor  greatly  better  than  the 
numbers  of  the  same  profession  whose  presence 
added  to  the  distracted  state  of  France. 

Without  being  wantonly  cruel,  Balafre  was, 
from  habit,  indifferent  to  human  life  and  human 
suffering  ;   he   was  profoundly  ignorant,   greedy 
of  booty,  unscrupulous  how  he  acquired  it,  and 
profuse    in  expending  it  on  the  gratification  of 
his  own  passions.     The  habit  of  attending  ex- 
clusively  to   his  own  wants  and    interests,   had 
converted  him  into  one  of  the  most  selfish  ani- 
mals in  the  world  ;  so  that  he  was  seldom  able,  as 
the  reader  may  have  remarked  to  proceed  far  in 
any  subject  without  considering  how  it  applied 
to  himself,   or,  as  it  is   called,  making  the  case 
his  own,  though    not    upon    feelings    connected 
with  the  golden  rule,  but  such  as  were  very  dif- 
ferent.    To  this  must  be  added,  that  the  narrow 
round  of  his  duties  and  his  pleasures  had  gra- 
dually  circumscribed   his  thoughts,  hopes,  and 
wishes,   and    quenched  in  a  great  measure  the 
wild  spirit  of  honour,  and  desire  of  distinction 
in  arms,  by  which  he  had  been  once  animated. 
Balafre  was,  in  short,  a  keen  soldier,  hardened, 
selfish,  and  narrow  minded  ;  active  and  bold  in 
the  discharge  of  his  duty,  but  acknowledging  few 
objects  beyond  it,  excepting   the  formal  obser- 
vance of  a  careless  devotion,  relieved  by  an  oc- 
casional debauch  with  brother  Boniface,  his  com- 
rade and  confessor.     Had  his  genius  been  of  a 
more   extended   character,  he   would   probably 


THE    BOHEMIANS.  75 

have  been  promoted  to  some  important  command, 
for  the  King,  who  knew  every  soldier  of  his  body- 
guard personally,  reposed  much  confidence  in 
Balafre's  courage  and  fidelity  ;  and  besides,  the 
Scot  had  either  wisdom  or  cunning  enough  per- 
fectly to  understand,  and  ably  to  humour,  the  pe- 
culiarities of  that  sovereign.  Still,  however,  his 
capacity  was  too  much  limited  to  admit  of  his 
rising  to  higher  rank,  and  though  smiled  on  and 
favoured  by  Louis  on  many  occasions,  Balafre 
continued  a  mere  life-guards-man. 

Without  seeing  the  full  scope  of  his  uncle's 
character,  Quentin  felt  shocked  at  his  indifference 
to  the  disastrous  extirpation  of  his  brother-in- 
law's  whole  family,  and  could  not  help  being  sur- 
prised, moreover,  that  so  near  a  relative  had  not 
offered  him  the  assistance  of  his  purse,  which,  but 
for  the  generosity  of  Maitre  Pierre,  he  would 
have  been  under  the  necessity  of  directly  craving 
from  him.     He  wronged  his  uncle,  however,  in 
supposing  that  this  want  of  attention  to  his  pro- 
bable necessities   was  owing  to  actual  avarice. 
Not  precisely  needing  money  himself  at  that  mo- 
ment, it  had  not  occurred  to  Balafre  that  his  ne- 
phew might  be  in  exigencies;  otherwise,  he  held 
a  near  kinsman  so  much  a  part  of  himself,  that  he 
would  have  provided  for  the  weal  of  the  living 
nephew,  as  he  endeavoured  to  do  for  that  of  his  de- 
ceased sister  and  her  husband.  But  whatever  was 
the  motive,  the  neglect  was  very  unsatisfactory  to 
young  Durward,  and  he  wished  more  than  once 
he   had  taken  service  with  the    Duke  of    Bur- 
gundy before   he   quarrelled   with   his   forester. 
*«  Whatever  had  then  become  of  me,"  he  thought 
to  himself,  "  I  would  always  have  been  able  to 
keep  up  my  spirits  with  the  reflection,  that  I  had, 
in  case  of  the  worst,  a  stout  back-friend  in  this 
uncle  of  mine.     But  now  I  have  seen  him,  and, 


76  THE    BOHEMIANS. 

woe  worth  him,  there  has  been  more  help  in  a 
mere  mechanical  stranger  than  I  have  found  in 
my  own  mother's  brother,  my  countryman  and  a 
cavalier.  One  would  think  the  slash,  that  has  car- 
ved all  comeliness  out  of  his  face,  had  let  at  the 
same  time  every  drop  of  gentle  blood  out  of  his 
body." 

Durward  now  regretted  he  had  not  had  an  op- 
portunity to  mention  Maitre  Pierre  to  Balafre, 
in  he  pes  of  obtaining  some  farther  account  of  that 
personage  ;  but  his  uncle's  questions  had  been 
huddl-d  fast  on  each  other,  and  the  summons 
of  the  j/reat  bell  of  Saint  Martin  of  Tours  had 
broken  off  their  conference  rather  suddenly.  That 
old  man,  he  recollected,  was  crabbed  and  dogged 
in  appearance,  sharp  and  scornful  in  language, 
but  generous  anu  liberal  in  his  actions  ;  and  such 
a  stranger  is  worth  a  cold  kinsman — <l  What 
says  our  old  Scottish  proverb  ? — *  Better  kind 
fremit,  than  fremit  kindred.*  I  will  find  out 
that  man,  which,  methinks,  should  be  no  difficult 
task,  since  he  is  so  wealthy  as  mine  host  bespeaks 
him.  He  will  give  me  good  advice  for  my  go- 
vernance, at  least ;  and  if  he  goes  to  strange 
countries,  as  many  such  do,  I  know  not  but  his 
may  be  as  adventurous  a  service  as  that  of  those 
Guards  of  Louis." 

As  Quentin  framed  this  thought,  a  whisper 
from  those  recesses  of  the  heart  in  which  lies 
much  that  the  owner  does  not  know  of,  or  will 
not  acknowledge  willingly,  suggested  that,  per- 
chance, the  lady  of  the  turret,  she  of  the  veil 
and  the  lute,  might  share  that  adventurous  jour- 
ney. 

As  the  Scottish  youth  made  these  reflections, 
he  met  two  grave-looking  men,  apparently  citi- 
zens of  Tours,  whom  doffing  his  cap  with  the 
reverence  due   from  youth  to  age,   he  respect- 


THE    BOHEMIANS.  77 

fully  asked  to  direct  him  to  the  house  of  Maitre 
Pierre. 

u  The  house  of  whom,  my  fair  son  V9  said  one 
of  the  passengers. 

'<Of  Maitre  Pierre,  the  great  silk  merchant, 
who  planted  all  the  mulberry  trees  in  the  park 
yonder,"  said  Durward. 

"  Young  man,*7  said  one  of  them  who  was 
nearest  to  him,  <4  you  have  taken  up  an  idle  trade 
a  little  too  early. '*  • 

4t  And  have  chosen  wrong  subjects  to  practise 
your  fooleries  upon,"  said  the  farther  one,  still 
more  gruffly.  "The  Syndic  of  Tours  is  not  ac- 
customed to  be  thus  talked  to  by  strolling  jes- 
ters from  foreign  parts.'* 

Quentin  was  so  much  surprised  at  the  cause- 
less offence  which  these  two  decent-looking  per- 
sons had  taken  at  a  very  simple  and  civil  ques- 
tion, that  he  forgot  to  be  angry  at  the  rudeness 
of  their  reply,  and  stood  staring  after  them  as 
they  walked  on  with  amended  pace,  often  looking 
back  at  him,  as  if  they  were  desirous  to  get  as 
soon  as  possible  out  of  his  reach. 

He  next  met  a  party  of  vine-dressers,  and  ad- 
dressed to  them  the  same  question  ?  and  in  re- 
ply, they  demanded  to  know  whether'he  wanted 
Maitre  Pierre,  the  schoolmaster?  or  Maitre  Pi- 
erre, the  carpenter  ?  or  Maitre  Pierre,  the  bea- 
dle ?  or  half-a-dozen  Maitre  Pierres  besides. 
When  none  of  these  corresponded  with  the  de- 
scription of  the  person  after  whom  he  inquired, 
the  peasants  accused  him  of  jesting  with  them 
impertinently,  and  threatened  to  fall  upon  him 
and  beat  him,  in  guerdon  of  his  raillery.  The 
oldest  among  them,  who  had  some  influence 
over  the  rest,  prevailed  on  them  to  desist  from 
violence. 

M  You  see  by  his  speech  and  his  fool's  cap,1' 

n 


78  THE    BOHEMIANS. 

said  he,  "that  he  is  one  of  the  foreign  mounte- 
banks who  are  come  into  the  country,  and  whom 
some  call  magicians  and  soothsayers,  and  some 
jugglers  and  the  like,  and  there  is  no  knowing 
what  tricks  they  have  amongst  them.  I  have 
heard  of  such  a  one  paying  a  hard  to  eat  his  belly 
full  of  grapes  in  a  poor  man's  vineyard  ;  and  he 
eat  as  many  as  would  have  loaded  a  wain,  and 
never  undid  a  button  of  his  jerkin-— and  so  let 
him  pass  quietly,  and  keep  his  way,  as  we  will 
keep  ours  :  And  you,  friend,  if  you  would  shun 
worse,  walk  quietly  on,  in  the  name  of  God,  our 
Lady  of  Marmonthier,  and  Saint  Martin  of 
Tours,  and  trouble  us  no  more  about  your  Mai- 
tre  Pierre,  which  may  be  another  name  for  the 
devil  for  aught  we  know." 

The  Scot,  finding  himself  much  the  weaker 
party,  judged  it  his  wisest  course  to  walk  on 
without  reply  j  but  the  peasants,  who  at  first 
shrunk  from  him  in  horror,  at  his  sup'posed  ta- 
lents for  sorcery  and  grape  devouring,  took  heart 
of  grace  as  he  got  to  a  distance,  and  having  ut- 
tered a  few  cries  and  curses,  finally  gave  them 
emphasis  with  a  shower  of  stones,  although  at 
such  a  distance  as  to  do  little  or  no  harm  to 
the  object  of  their  displeasure.  Quentin,  as  he 
pursued  his  walk,  began  to  think,  in  his  turn, 
either  that  he  himself  lay  under  a  spell,  or  that 
the  people  of  Touraine  were  the  most  stupid, 
brutal,  aud  inhospitable  of  the  French  peasants. 
The  next  incident  which  came  under  his  obser- 
vation did  not  tend  to  diminish  this  opinion. 

On  a  slight  eminence,  rising  above  the  rapid 
and  beautiful  Cher,  in  the  direct  line  of  his  path, 
two  or  three  large  chesnut  trees  were  so  hap- 
pily placed  as  to  form  a  distinguished  and  re- 
markable groupe  ;  and  beside  them  stood  three 
nr  four  peasants,  motionless,  with  their  eyes  turn- 


THE    BOHEMIANS.  79 

ed  upwards,  and  fixed  apparently,  upon  some 
object  amongst  the  branches  of  the  tree  next  to 
them.  The  meditations  of  youth  are  seldom  so 
profound  as  not  to  yield  to  the  slightest  impulse 
of  curiosity,  as  easily  as  the  lightest  pebble, 
dropped  casually  from  the  hand,  breaks  the  sur- 
face of  a  limpid  pool.  Quentin  hastened  his 
pace,  and  ran  lightly  up  the  rising  ground,  time 
enough  to  witness  the  ghastly  spectacle  which 
attracted  the  notice  of  these  gazers — which  was 
nothing  less  than  the  body  of  a  man  convulsed 
by  the  last  agony,  suspended  on  one  of  the  bran- 
ches. 

"  Why  do  you  not  cut  him  down  ?"  said  the 
young  Scot,  whose  hand  was  as  ready  to  assist 
affliction,  as  to  maintain  his  own  honour  when  he 
deemed  it  assailed. 

One  of  the  peasants,  turning  on  him  an  eye 
from  which  fear  had  banished  all  expressions  but 
its  own,  and  a  face  as  pale  as  clay,  pointed  to  a 
mark  cut  upon  the  bark  of  the  tree,  bearing  the 
same  rude  resemblance  to  a  fleur-de-lys  which 
certain  talismanic  scratches,  well  known  to  our 
revenue  officers,  bear  to  a  broad  arrow.  Neither 
understanding  nor  heeding  the  import  of  this 
symbol,  young  Durward  sprung  lightly  as  the 
ounce  up  into  the  tree,  drew  from  his  pouch  that 
most  necessary  implement  of  a  Highlander  or 
woodsman,  the  trusty  skene  dhu,  and  calling  to 
those  below  to  receive  the  body  on  their  hands, 
cut  the  rope  asunder  in  less  than  a  minute  after 
he  had  perceived  the  exigency. 

But  his  humanity  was  ill  seconded  by  the  by- 
standers. So  far  from  rendering  Durward  any 
assistance,  they  seemed  terrified  at  the  audacity 
of  his  action,  and  took  to  flight  with  one  consent, 
as  if  they  feared  their  merely  looking  on  might 
have  been  construed  into  accession  to  his  daring 


80  THE    BOHEMIANS. 

deed.  The  body  unsupported  from  beneath, 
fell  heavily  to  earth,  in  such  a  manner,  that 
Quentin,  who  presently  afterwards  jumped  down 
had  the  mortification  to  see  that  the  last  sparks 
of  life  were  extinguished.  He  gave  not  up  his 
charitable  purpose,  however,  without  farther  ef- 
forts. He  freed  the  wretched  man's  neck  from 
the  fatal  noose,  undid  the  doublet,  threw  water 
on  the  face,  and  practised  the  other  ordinary  re- 
medies resorted  to  for  recalling  suspended  ani- 
mation. 

While  he  was  thus  humanely  engaged,  a  wild 
clamour  of  tongues,  speaking  a  language  which 
he  knew  not,  arose  around  him  ;  and  he  had 
scarcely  time  to  observe  that  he  was  surrounded 
by  several  men  and  women  of  a  singular  and  fo- 
reign appearance,  when  he  found  himself  roughly 
seized  by  both  arms,  while  a  naked  knife,  at  the 
same  moment,  was  offered  to  his  throat. 

4<  Pale  slave  of  Eblis  !  said  a  man,  in  imperfect 
French,  «  are  you  robbing  him  you  have  mur- 
dered ? — But  we  have  you — and  you  shall  abuy 
it." 

There  were  knifes  drawn  on  every  side  of  him 
as  these  words  were  spoken,  and  the  grim  and 
distorted  countenances  which  glared  on  him, 
were  like  those  of  wolves  rushing  on  their  pre,y. 

Still  the  young  Scot's  courage  and  presence  of 
mind  bore  him  out.  «  What  mean  ye  my  mas- 
ters?" he  said  ;  w if  that  be  your  friend's  body,  I 
have  just  now  cut  him  down,  in  pure  charity,  and 
you  will  do  better  to  try  to  recover  his  life,  than 
to  misuse  an  innocent  stranger  to  whom  he  owes 
his  chance  of  escape." 

The  women  had  by  this  time  taken  possession 
of  the  dead  body,  and  continued  the  attempts  to 
recover  animation  which  Durward  had  been 
making  use  of,  though  with  the  like  bad  success ; 


THE    BOHEMIANS.  81 

so  that,  desisting  from  their  fruitless  efforts,  they 
seemed  to  abandon  themselves  to  all  the  oriental 
expressions  of  grief;  the  women  making  a  pite- 
ous wailing,  and  tearing  their  long  black  hair, 
while  the  men  seemed  to  rend  their  garments, 
and  to  sprinkle  dust  upon  their  heads.  They 
gradually  became  so  much  engaged  in  their 
mourning  rites,  that  they  bestowed  no  longer  any 
attention  on  Durward,  of  whose  innocence  they 
were  probably  satisfied  from  circumstances.  It 
would  certainly  have  been  his  wisest  course  to 
have  left  these  wild  people  to  their  own  courses, 
but  he  had  been  bred  in  almost  a  reekless  con- 
tempt of  danger,  and  felt  all  the  eagerness  of 
youthful  curiosity. 

The  singular  assemblage,  both  male  and  fe- 
male, wore  turbans  and  caps,  more  similar,  in 
general  appearance,  to  his  own  bonnet  than  to 
those  generally  worn  in  France.  Several  of  the 
men  had  curled  black  beards,  and  the  complexion 
of  all  was  nearly  as  dark  as  that  of  Africans. 
One  or  two,  who  seemed  their  chiefs,  had  some 
tawdry  ornaments  of  silver  about  their  necks  and 
in  their  ears,  with  showy  scarfs  of  yellow,  or 
scarlet,  or  light  green  j  but  their  legs  and  arms 
were  bare,  and  the  whole  troop  seemed  wretched 
and  squalid  in  appearance.  There  were  no  wea- 
pons among  them  that  Durward  saw,  excepting 
the  long  knives  with  which  they  had  lately  me- 
naced him,  and  one  short  crooked  sabre,  or  Moor- 
ish sword,  which  was  worn  by  an  active  looking 
young  man,  who  often  laid  his  hand  upon  the  hilt, 
while  he  surpassed  the  rest  of  the  party  in  his 
extravagant  expressions  of  grief,  and  seemed  to 
mingle  with  them  threats  of  vengeance. 

The  disordered  and  yelling  group  were  so  dif- 
ferent in  appearance  from  any  beings  whom 
Quentin  had  yet  seen,  that  he  was  on  the  point 


85  THE    BOHEMIANS. 

of  concluding  them  to  be  a  party  of  Saracens,  of 
those  "  heathen  hounds,"  who  were  the  oppo- 
nents of  gentle  knights  and  Christian  monarchs, 
in  all  the  romances  which  he  had  heard  or  read, 
and  was  about  to  withdraw  himself  from  a  neigh- 
bourhood so  perilous,  when  a  galloping  of  horse 
was  heard,  and  the  supposed  Saracens,  who  had 
raised  by  this  time  the  body  of  their  comrade 
upon  their  shoulders,  were  at  once  charged  by  a 
party  of  French  soldiers. 

This  sudden  apparition  changed  the  measured 
wailing  of  the  mourners  into  irregular  shrieks  of 
terror.  The  body  was  thrown  to  the  ground  in 
an  instant,  and  those  who  were  around  it  shewed 
the  utmost  and  most  dexterous  activity  in  es- 
caping, under  the  bellies  as  it  were  of  the  horses, 
and  from  the  point  of  the  lances  which  were 
IcVcllcd  at  them,  with  exclamations  of  "  Down 
with  the  accursed  heathen  thieves — take  and  kill 

; bind  them  like  beasts— spear  them  like  wolves!" 

These  cries  were  accompanied  with  corres- 
ponding acts  of  violence  ?  but  such  was  the  alert- 
ness of  the  fugitives,  the  ground  being  rendered 
unfavourable  to  the  horsemen  by  thickets  and 
bushes,  that  only  two  were  struck  down  and 
made  prisoners,  one  of  whom  was  the  young  fel- 
low with  the  sword,  who  had  previously  offered 
some  resistance.  Quentin,  whom  fortune  seemed 
at  this  period  to  have  chosen  for  the  butt  of  her 
shafts,  was  at  this  time  seized  by  the  soldiers, 
and  his  arms,  in  spite  of  his  remonstrances, 
bound  down  with  a  cord  ;  those  who  apprehended 
him  showing  a  readiness  and  dispatch  in  the 
operation,  which  proved  them  to  be  no  novices 
in  matters  of  police. 

Looking  anxiously  to  the  leader  of  the  horse- 
men, from  whom  he  hoped  to  obtain  liberty, 
Quentin  knew  not  exactly  whether  to  be  pleased 


THE    BOHEMIANS.  83 

or  alarmed  upon  recognising  in  him  the  down- 
looking  and  silent  companion  of  Maitre  Pierre. 
True,  whatever  crime  these  strangers  might  be 
accused  of,  this  officer  might  know,  from  the 
history  of  the  morning,  that  he,  Durward,  had 
no  connection  with  them  whatsoever ;  but  it  was 
a  more  difficult  question,  whether  this  sullen 
man  would  be  either  a  favourable  judge  or  a 
willing  witness  in  his  behalf,  and  he  felt  doubtful 
whether  he  would  mend  his  condition  by  making 
any  direct  application  to  him. 

But  there  was  little  leisure  for  hesitation. 
"  Trois-Eschelles  and  Petit-Andre,"  said  the 
down-looking  officer  to  two  of  his  band,  "  these 
same  trees  stand  here  quite  convenient.  I  will 
teach  these  misbelieving,  thieving  sorcerers  to 
interfere  with  the  King's  justice,  when  it  has 
visited  any  of  their  accursed  race.  Dismount, 
my  children,  and  do  your  office  briskly." 

Trois-Eschelles  and  Petit-Andre  were  in  an 
instant  on  foot,  and  Quentin  observed  that  they 
had  each,  at  the  crupper  and  pommel  of  his  sad- 
dle, a  coil  or  two  of  ropes,  which  they  hastily 
undid,  and  shewed  that,  in  fact,  each  coil  formed 
a  halter,  with  the  fatal  noose  adjusted,  ready  for 
execution.  The  blood  ran  cold  in  Quentin's 
veins,  when  he  saw  three  cords  selected,  and  per- 
ceived that  it  was  purposed  to  put  one  around 
his  own  neck.  He  called  on  the  officer  loudly, 
reminded  him  of  their  meeting  that  morning^ 
claimed  the  right  of  a  free-born  Scotchman,  in 
a  friendly  and  allied  country,  and  denied  any 
knowledge  of  the  persons  along  with  whom  he 
was  seized,  or  of  their  misdeeds. 

The  officer  whom  Durward  thus  addressed, 
scarce  deigned  to  look  at  him  while  he  was 
speaking,  and  took  no  notice  whatsoever  of  the 


84  THE  BOHEMIANS. 

claim  he  preferred  to  prior  acquaintance.  He 
barely  turned  to  one  or  two  of  the  peasants  who 
were  now  come  forward,  either  to  volunteer  their 
evidence  against  the  prisoners,  or  out  of  curiosity, 
and  said  gruffly, «'  Was  yonder  young  fellow  with 
the  vagabonds  V\ 

"  That  he  was,  sir,  and  it  please  your  noble 
Provost-ship,"  answered  one  of  the  clowns;  "  he 
was  the  very  first  blasphemously  to  cut  down  the 
rascal  whom  his  majesty's  justice  most  deservedly 
hung  up,  as  we  told  your  worship." 

«  I'll  swear  by  God,  and  Saint  Martin  of 
Tours,  to  have  seen  him  with  their  gang,"  said 
another,  when  they  pillaged  our  metairie*'* 

«  Nay,  but,  father,"  said  a  boy,  "  yonder  hea- 
then was  black,  and  this  youth  is  fair ;  yonder 
one  had  short  curled  hair,  and  this  hath  long 
fair  locks." 

"  Ay,  child,"  said  the  peasant,  <c  and  yonder 
one  had  a  green  coat  and  this  a  grey  jerkin.  But 
his  worship,  the  Provost,  knows  that  they  can 
change  their  complexions  as  easily  as  their  jer- 
kins, so  that  I  am  still  minded  he  was  the  same." 
"  It  is  enough  that  you  have  seen  him  inter- 
meddle with  the  course  of  the  King's  justice,  by 
attempting  to  recover  an  executed  traitor,"  said 
the  officer, — w  Trois-Eschelles  and  Petit- Andre, 
dispatch." 

«c  Stay,  signior  officer!"  exclaimed  the  youth, 
in  mortal  agony — l*  hear  me  speak — let  me  not 
die  guiltlessly — my  blood  will  be  required  of 
you  by  my  countrymen  in  this  world,  and  by 
heaven's  justice  in  that  which  is  to  follow." 

u  I  will  answer  my  actions  in  both,"  said  the 
Provost,  coldly  ;  and  made  a  sign  with  his  left 
hand  to  the  executioners;  then,  with  a  smile  of 
triumphant  malice,  touched  with  his  fore-finger 


1HE    BOHEMIANS.  H5 

his  right  arm,  which  hung  suspended  in  a  scarf, 
disabled  probably  by  the  blow  which  Durward 
had  dealt  him  that  morning. 

4«  Miserable  vindictive  wretch  I'1 — answered 
Quentin,  persuaded  by  that  action  that  private 
revenge  was  the  sole  motive  of  this  man's  rigour, 
and  that  no  mercy  whatever  was  to  be  expected 
from   him. 

"  The  poor  youth  raves,"  said  the  function- 
ary; "speak  a  word  of  comfort  to  him  ere  he 
make  his  transit,  Trois-Eschelles  ;  thou  art  a 
comfortable  man  in  such  cases,  when  a  confessor 
is  not  to  be  had.  Give  him  one  minute  of  ghost- 
ly advice,  and  dispatch  matters  in  the  next.  I 
must  proceed  on  the  rounds. — Soldiers,  follow 
me  I" 

The  Provost  rode  on,  followed  by  his  guard, 
excepting  two  or  three  who  were  left  to  assist 
in  the  execution.  The  unhappy  youth  cast 
after  him  an  eye  almost  darkened  by  despair, 
and  thought  he  heard,  in  every  tramp  of  his 
horse's  retreating  hoofs,  the  last  slight  chance  of 
his  safety  vanish.  He  looked  around  him  in 
agony,  and  was  surprised,  even  in  that  moment, 
to  see  the  stoical  indifference  of  his  fellow-pri- 
soners. They  had  previously  testified  every  sign 
of  fear,  and  made  every  effort  to  escape  ;  but 
now,  when  secured,  and  destined  apparently  to 
inevitable  death,  they  awaited  its  arrival  with 
the  most  stoical  indifference.  The  scene  of  fate 
before  them  gave,  perhaps,  a  more  yellow  tinge 
to  their  swarthy  cheeks  ;  but  it  neither  agitated 
their  features,  nor  quenched  the  stubborn  haugh- 
tiness of  their  eye.  They  seemed  like  foxes, 
which,  after  all  their  wiles  and  artful  attempts  at 
escape  are  exhausted,  die  with  a  silent  and  sul- 
len fortitude,  which  wolves  and  bears,  the  fiercer 
objects  of  the  chase,  do  not  exhibit 
Vol.  I.— 8 


86  THE  BOHEMIANS. 

They  were  undaunted  by  the  conduct  of  the 
fatal  executioners,  who  went  about  their  work 
with  more  deliberation  than  their  master  had 
recommended,  and  which  probably  arose  from 
their  having  acquired  by  habit  a  kind  of  pleasure 
in  the  discharge  of  their  horrid  office.  We  pause 
an  instant  to  describe  them,  because,  under  a 
tyranny,  whether  despotic  or  popular  the  cha- 
racter of  the  hangman  becomes  a  subject  of  grave 
importance. 

These  functionaries  were  essentially  different 
in  their  appearance  and  manners.  Louis  used  to 
call  them  Democritus  and  Heraclitus,  and  their 
master,  the  Provost,  termed  them,  Jean-qui- 
pieurey  and  Jean-qui-rht. 

Trois-Eschelles  was  a  tall,  thin,  ghastly  man, 
with  a  peculiar  gravity  of  visage,  and  a  large  ro- 
sary round  his  neck,  the  use  of  which  he  was  ac- 
customed piously  to  offer  to  those  sufferers  on 
whom  he  did  his  duty.  He  had  one  or  two 
Latin  texts  continually  in  his  mouth  on  the  noth- 
ingness and  vanity  of  human  life  ;  and,  had  it 
been  regular  to  have  enjoyed  such  a  plurality,  he 
might  have  held  the  office  of  confessor  to  the 
jail  in  commendam  with  that  of  executioner. 
Petit- Andre,  on  the  contrary,  was  a  joyous-look- 
ing, round,  active,  little  fellow,  who  roiled  about 
in  execution  of  his  duty  as  if  it  was  the  most  di- 
verting occupation  in  the  world.  He  seemed  to 
have  a  sort  of  fond  affection  for  his  victims,  and 
always  spoke  of  them  in  kindly  and  affectionate 
terms.  They  were  his  poor  honest  follows,  his 
pretty  dears,  his  gossips,  his  good  old  fathers,  as 
their  .<ge  or  sex  might  be  ;  and  as  Trois-Eschei- 
les  endeavoured  to  inspire  them  with  a  philoso- 
phical or  religious  regard  to  futurity,  Petit-An- 
dre seldom  failed  to  refresh  them  with  a  jest  or 
two,  to  make  them  pass  from  life  as  something 


THE  BOHEMIANS.  8( 

that  was  ludicrous,  contemptible,  and  not  wor- 
thy of  serious  consideration. 

I  cannot  tell  why  or  wherefore  it  was,  but 
these  two  excellent  persons,  notwithstanding  the 
variety  of  their  talents,  and  the  rare  occurrence 
of  such  among  persons  of  their  profession,  were 
both  more  utterly  detested  than,  perhaps,  any 
creatures  of  their  kind,  whether  before  or  since  ; 
and  the  only  doubt  of  those  who  knew  aught  of 
them  was,  whether  the  grave  and  pathetic  Trois- 
Eschelles,  or  the  frisky,  comic,  alert  Petit-Andre, 
was  the  object  of  the  greatest  fear  or  of  the  deep- 
est execration.  It  is  certain  they  bore  the  palm 
in  both  particulars  over  every  hangman  in  France, 
unless  it  were  perhaps  their  master,  Tristan 
THermite,  the  renowned  Provost-Marshal,  or 
his  master,  Louis  XI. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  these  reflections 
were  of  Quentin  Durward's  making.  Life,  death, 
time,  and  eternity,  were  swimming  before  his 
eyes— a  stunning  and  overwhelming  prospect, 
from  which  human  nature  recoiled  in  its  weak- 
ness, though  human  pride  Would  fain  have  borne 
up.  He  addressed  himself  to  the  God  of  his 
fathers  ;  and  when  he  did  so,  the  little  rude,  and 
unroofed  chapel,  which  now  held  almost  all  his 
race  but  himself,  rushed  on  his  recollection. 
"  Our  feudal  enemies  gave  us  graves  in  our  own 
land,'*  he  thought,  "  but  I  must  feed  the  ravens 
and  kites  of  a  foreign  land,  like  an  excommuni- 
cated felon."  The  tears  gushed  involuntarily 
from  his  eyes.  Trois-Eschelles,  touching  one 
shoulder,  gravely  congratulated  him  on  his  hea- 
venly disposition  for  death,  and  pathetically  ex- 
claiming, Bead  qui  in  Domino  moriuntur,  re- 
marked the  soul  was  happy  that  left  the  body 
while  the  tear  was  in  the  eye.  Petit-Andre, 
slapping  the  other  shoulder,  called  out,  «*  Cou- 


S8  THE  BOHEMIANS. 

rage,  my  fair  son  !  since  you  must  begin  the 
dance,  let  the  ball  open  gaily,  for  all  the  rebecs 
are  in  tune,"  twitching  the  halter  at  the  same 
time,  to  give  point  to  his  joke.  As  the  youth 
turned  his  dismayed  looks,  first  on  one  and  then 
on  the  other,  they  made  their  meaning  plainer  by 
gently  urging  him  forward  to  the  fatal  tree,  and 
bidding  him  be  of  good  courage,  for  it  would  be 
over  in  a  moment. 

In  this  fatal  predicament,  the  youth  cast  a  dis- 
tracted look  around  him.  "  Is  there  any  good 
Christian  who  hears  me,"  he  said,  "  that  will  tell 
J,udovic  Leslie  of  the  Scottish  Guard,  called  in 
this  country  Le  Balafre,  that  his  nephew  is  here 
basely  murthered  V9 

The  words  were  spoken  in  good  time,  for  an 
Archer  of  the  Scottish  Guard,  attracted  by  the 
preparations  for  the  execution,  was  standing  by, 
with  one  or  two  other  chance-passengers,  to  wit- 
ness what  was  passing. 

"  Take  heed  what  you  do,"  he  said  to  the  exe- 
cutioners ;  "if  this  young  man  be  of  Scottish 
birth,  I  will  not  permk  him  to  have  foul  play." 

«<  Heaven  forbid,  Sir  Cavalier,"  said  Trois- 
Eschelles  ;  u  but  we  must  obey  our  orders," 
drawing  Durward  forward  by  one  arm. 

«  The  shortest  play  is  ever  the  fairest,"  said 
Petit-Andre,  pulling  him  onward  by  the  other. 

But  Quentin  had  heard  words  of  comfort,  and, 
exerting  his  strength,  he  suddenly  shook  off  both 
the  finishers  of  the  law,  and,  with  his  arms  still 
bound,  ran  to  the  Scottish  Archer.  «*  Stand  by 
me,"  he  said  in  his  own  language,  <l  countryman, 
for  the  love  of  Scotland  and  Saint  Andrew  !  I 
am  innocent — I  am  your  own  native  landsman. 
Stand  by  me,  as  you  shall  answer  at  the  last  day !" 


THE  BOHEMIANb,  89 

u  By  Saint  Andrew  !  they  shall  make  at  you 
through  me,"  said  the  Archer,  and  unsheathed 
his  sword. 

u  Cut  my  bonds,  countryman,''  said  Quentin, 
"and  I  will  do  something  for  myself." 

This  was  done  with  a  touch  of  the  Archer's 
weapon  ;  and  the  liberated  captive,  springing 
suddenly  on  one  of  the  Provost's  guard,  wrested 
from  him  a  halberd  with  which  he  was  armed  ; 
"  And  now,"  he  said,  "  come  on  if  you  dare." 

The  two  officer  whimpered  together. 

"Ride  thou  after  the  Provost-Marhal,"  said 
Trois-Eschelles,  "and  I  will  detain  them  here, 
if  I  can. — Soldiers  of  the  Provost's  guard,  stand 
to  your  arms." 

Petit  Andre  mounted  his  horse  and  left  the 
field,  and  the  other  marshalls-men  in  attendance 
drew  together  so  hastily  at  the  command  of 
Trois-Eschelles,  that  they  suffered  the  other  two 
prisoners  to  make  their  escape  during  the  confu- 
sion. Perhaps  they  were  not  very  anxious  to 
detain  them  ;  for  they  had  of  late  been  sated  with 
the  blood  of  such  wretches,  and,  like  other  fero- 
cious animals,  were,  through  long  slaughter, 
become  tired  of  carnage.  But  the  pretext  was, 
that  they  thought  themselves  immediately  called 
upon  to  attend  to  the  safety  of  Trois-Eschelles  ; 
for  there  was  a  jealousy,  which  occasionally  led 
to  open  quarrels  betwixt  the  Scottish  Archers 
and  the  Marshal-guards,  who  executed  the  orders 
of  their  Provost. 

'«  We  are  strong  enough  to  beat  the  proud 
Scots  twice  over,  if  it  be  your  pleasure,''  said 
one  of  these  soldiers  to  Trois-Eschelles. 

But  that  cautious  official  made  a  sign  to  him 

to    remain  quieV  ana*    addressed    the    Scottish 

Archer  with  great  civility.     "  Surely,  sir,  this  is 

a  great  insult  to  the  Provost-Marshal,  that  you 

8f 


90  THE  BOHEMIANS. 

should  presume  to  interfere  with  the  course  of 
the  King's  justice,  duly  and  lawfully  committed 
to  his  charge  ;  and  it  is  no  act  of  justice  to  me, 
who  am  in  lawful  possession  of  my  criminal. 
Neither  is  it  a  well-meant  kindness  to  the  youth 
himself,  seeing  that  fifty  opportunities  of  hang- 
ing him  may  occur,  without  his  being  found  in 
so  happy  a  state  of  preparation  as  he  was  before 
your  ill-advised  interference." 

"  If  my  young  countryman,"  said  the  Scot, 
smiling,  "  be  of  opinion  I  have  done  him  an  in- 
jury, I  will  return  him  to  your  charge  without  a 
word  more  dispute." 

"  No,  no  ! — for  the  love  of  Heaven,  no  !"  ex- 
claimed Quentin.  u  I  would  rather  you  swept 
my  head  off  with  your  long  sword — it  would  bet- 
ter become  my  birth,  than  to  die  by  the  hands  of 
such  a  foul  churl." 

•'  Hear  how  he  revileth,"  said  the  finisher  of 
the  law.  "  Alas  !  how  soon  our  best  resolutions 
pass  away — he  was  in  a  blessed  frame  for  depar- 
ture but  now,  and  in  two  minutes  he  has  become 
a  contemner  of  authorities." 

"  Tell  me  at  once/'  said  the  Archer,  "  what 
has  this  young  man  done  l" 

"  Interfered  to  take  down  the  dead  body  of  a 
criminal  when  \hejleur-de-lys  was  marked  on  the 
tree  where  he  was  hung  with  my  own  proper 
hand,"  said  the  executioner. 

"How  is  this,  young  man?"  said  the  Archer; 
"how  come  you  to  have  committed  such  an  of- 
fence ?" 

*•  As  I  desire  your  protection,"  answered  Dur- 
ward,  "  I  will  tell  you  the  truth  as  if  I  were  at 
confession.  I  saw  a  man  struggling  on  the  tree, 
and  I  went  to  cut  him  down  out  of  mere  human- 
ity. I  thought  neither  of  fleur-de-lys  nor  of 
clove-gilliflower,  and  had  no  more  idea  of  of- 


THE  BOHEMIANS.  91 

fending  the  King  of  France  than  our  Father  the 
Pope." 

*  What  a  murrain  had  you  to  do  with  the 
dead  body,  then  ?  You'll  see  them  hanging,  in 
the  rear  of  this  gentleman,  like  grapes  on  every 
tree,  and  you  will  have  enough  to  do  in  this  coun- 
try if  you  go  a  gleaning  after  the  hangman. 
However,  I  will  not  quit  a  countryman's  cause 
if  I  can  help  it. — Hark  yr,  Master  Marshals-man, 
you  see  this  is  entirely  a  mistake.  You  should 
have  some  compassion  on  so  young  a  traveller. 
In  our  country  at  home  he  has  not  been  accus- 
tomed to  see  such  active  proceedings  as  yours 
and  your  master's." 

"Not  for  want  of  need  of  them,  Signior  Ar- 
cher/' said  Petit-Andre,  who  returned  at  this 
moment.  "Stand  fast,  Trois-Eschelles,  for  here 
comes  the  Provost-Marshal  ;  we  shall  presently 
see  how  he  will  relish  having  his  work  taken  out 
of  his  hand  before  it  is  finished." 

"And  in  good  time,"  said  the  Archer,  "here 
come  some  of  my  comrades." 

Accordingly,  as  the  Provost  Triston  rode  up 
with  his  patrole  on  one  side  of  the  little  hill 
which  was  the  scene  of  the  altercation,  four  or 
five  Archers  came  as  hastily  up  on  the  other, 
and  at  their  head  the  Balafre  himself. 

Upon  this  urgency,  Leslie  shewed  none  of 
that  indifference  towards  his  nephew  of  which 
Quentin  had  in  his  heart  accused  him  ;  for  he 
no  sooner  saw  his  comrade  and  Durward  stand- 
ing upon  their  defence,  than  he  exclaimed,  "  Cun- 
ningham, I  thank  thee.  Gentlemen — comrades, 
lend  me  your  aid — It  is  a  young  Scottish  gen- 
tleman— my  nephew — Lindesay— 7Guthrie — Ty- 
rie,  draw,  and  strike  in." 

There  was  now  every  prospect  of  a  desperate 
scuffle  between  the  parties,  who  were  not  so  dis- 


92  THE  BOHEMIAN.. 

proportioned  in  numbers,  but  that  the  better 
arms  of  the  Scottish  cavaliers  gave  them  an  equal 
chance  of  victory.  But  the  Provost-Marshal, 
either  doubting  the  issue  of  the  conflict,  or  aware 
that  it  would  be  disagreeable  to  the  King,  made 
a  sign  to  his  followers  to  forbear  from  violence, 
while  he  demanded  of  Balafre,  who  now  put 
himself  forward  as  the  head  of  the  other  party, 
"  what  he,  a  cavalier  of  the  King's  Body-Guard, 
purposed  by  opposing  the  execution  of  a  crimi- 
nal l» 

"I  deny  that  I  do  so,"  answered  the  Balafre. 
"  Saint  Martin  !  there  is,  I  think,  some  difference 
between  the  execution  of  a  criminal,  and  the 
slaughter  of  my  own  nephew." 

"  Your  nephew  may  be  a  criminal  as  well  as 
another,  Signor,"  said  the  Provost- Marshal  ; 
♦4  and  every  stranger  in  France  is  amenable  to 
the  laws  of  France." 

«■  Yes,  but  we  have  privileges,  we  Scottish 
Archers,"  said  Balafre  ;  "  have  we  not  com- 
rades?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  they  all  exclaimed  together. 
44  Privileges — privileges  !  Long  live  King  Louis 
— long  live  the  bold  Balafre — long  live  the  Scot- 
tish Guard — and  death  to  all  who  would  infringe 
our  privileges !" 

"Take  reason  with  you,  gentlemen  cavaliers," 
said  the  Provost-Marshal ;  "  consider  my  com- 
mission." 

"  We  will  have  no  reason  at  your  hand,"  said 
Cunningham  ;  "our  own  officers  shall  do  us  rea- 
son. We  will  be  judged  by  the  King's  grace, 
or  by  our  own  Captain,  now  that  the  Lord  High 
Constable  is  not  in  presence.'1 

"  And  we  will  be  hanged  by  none,"  said 
Lindesay,  "but  Sandie  Wilson,  the  auld  Mar- 
shalsman  of  our  ain  body." 


THE  BOHEMIANS.  93 

"  It  would  be  a  positive  cheating  of  Sandie, 
who  is  as  honest  a  man  as  ever  tied  noose  upon 
hemp,  did  we  give  way  to  any  other  proceed- 
ing," said  the  Balafre.  "  Were  I  to  be  hanged 
myself,  no  other  should  tie  tippet  about  my 
craig." 

"But  hear  ye,"  said  the  Provost-Marshal, 
"  this  young  fellow  belongs  not  to  you,  and  can- 
not share  what  you  call  your  privileges." 

"  VVhat  we  call  our  privileges,  all  shall  admit 
to  be  such,*'  said  Cunningham. 

M  We  will  not  hear  them  questioned  !"  was 
the  universal  cry  of  the  Archers. 

*l  Ye  are  mad,  my  masters,"  said  Tristan 
PHermite — *4  No  one  disputes  your  privileges  j 
but  this  youth  is  not  one  of  you." 

«■  He  is  my  nephew,"  said  the  Balafre,  with  a 
triumphant  air. 

"  But  no  Archer  of  the  Guard,  I  think,"  re- 
torted Tristan  PHermite. 

The  Archers  looked  on  each  other  in  some 
uncertainty. 

"  Stand  to  yet,  cousin,"  whispered  Cunning- 
ham to  Balafre — «4  Say  he  is  engaged  with  us." 

"Saint  Martin!  you  say  well,  fair  kinsman," 
answered  JLesly  ;  and,  raising  his  voice,  swore 
that  he  had  that  day  enrolled  his  kinsman  as  one 
of  his  own  retinue. 

This  declaration  was  a  decisive  argument. 

"  It  is  well,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Provost 
Tristan,  who  was  aware  of  the  King's  nervous 
apprehension  of  disaffection  creeping  in  among 
his  Guards — u  You  know,  as  you  say,  your  pri- 
vileges, and  it  is  not  my  duty  to  have  brawls 
with  the  King's  Guards,  if  it  is  to  be  avoided. 
But  I  will  report  this  matter  for  the  King's  own 
decision;  and  I  would  have  vou  to  be  aware, 


94  THE  BOHEMIANS. 

that,  in  doing  so,  I  act  more  mildly  than  perhaps 
my  duty  warrants  me." 

So  saying,  he  put  his  troop  into  motion,  while 
the  Archers  remaining  on  the  spot,  held  a  hasty 
consultation  what  was  next  to  be  done. 

44  We  must  report  the  matter  to  Lord  Craw- 
ford, our  Captain,  in  the  first  place,  and  have  the 
young  fellow's  name  put  on  the  roll.'1 

«4But,  gentlemen,  and  my  worthy  friends  and 
preservers,"  said  Quentin,  with  some  hesitation, 
44 1  have  not  yet  determined  whether  to  take  ser- 
vice with  you  or  no." 

4<Then  settle  in  your  own  mind,"  said  his 
uncle,  44  whether  you  choose  to  do  so,  or  be 
hanged — for  I  promise  you  that,  nephew  of  mine 
as  you  are,  I  see  no  other  chance  of  your  'scaping 
the  gallows." 

This  was  an  unanswerable  argument,  and  re- 
duced Quentin  at  once  to  acquiesce  in  what  he 
might  have  otherwise  considered  as  no  very  agree- 
able proposal ;  but  the  recent  escape  from  the 
halter,  which  had  been  actually  around  his  neck, 
would  probably  have  reconciled  him  to  a  worse 
alternative  than  was  proposed. 

44  He  must  go  home  with  us  to  our  Caserne," 
said  Cunningham  ;  «4  there  is  no  safety  for  him 
out  of  our  bounds  whilst  these  man-hunters  are 
prowling  about." 

4<  May  I  not  then  abide  for  this  night  at  the 
hostelrie  where  I  breakfasted,  fair  unclej"  said 
the  youth — thinking,  perhaps,  like  many  a  new 
recruit,  that  even  a  single  night  of  freedom  was 
something  gained. 

*4  Yes,  fair  nephew,"  answered  his  uncle,  iron- 
ically, 44  that  we  may  have  the  pleasure  of  fish- 
ing you  out  of  some  canal  or  moat,  or  perhaps 
out  of  a  loop  of  the  Loire,  knit  up  in  a  sack,  for 
the  greater  convenience  of  swimming — for  that 


THE  BOHEMIANS.  95 

is  like  to  be  the  end  on't. — The  Provost- Mar- 
shal smiled  on  us  when  we  parted,"  continued  he, 
addressing  Cunningham,  "  and  that  is  a  sign  his 
thoughts  were  dangerous." 

"  I  care  not  for  his  danger/'  said  Cunning- 
ham ;  "such  game  as  we  are  is  beyond  his  bird- 
bolts.  But  I  would  have  thee  tell  the  whole  to 
the  Devil's  Oliver,  who  is  always  a  good  friend 
to  the  Scottish  Guard,  and  will  see  Father  Louis 
before  the  Provost  can,  for  he  is  to  shave  him 
to-morrow." 

"  But  hark  you,*'  said  Balafre,  «*  it  is  ill  going 
to  Oliver  empty-handed,  and  I  am. as  bare  as  the 
birch  in  December." 

"So  are  we  all,"  said  Cunningham — <«  Oliver 
must  not  scruple  to  take  our  Scottish  words  for 
once.  We  will  make  up  something  handsome 
among  us  against  the  next  pay-day  ;  and  if  he 
expects  to  share,  let  me  tell  you,  the  pay-day  will 
come  about  all  the  sooner." 

**  And  now  for  the  Chateau,"  said  Balafre  ; 
"and  my  nephew  shall  tell  us  by  the  way  how 
he  brought  the  Provost-Marshal  on  his  shoul- 
ders, that  we  may  know  how  to  shape  our  re- 
port both  to  Crawford  and  Oliver." 


96  THE    ENROLMENT 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  ENROLMENT. 

Justice  of  Peace. — Here,  hand  me  down  the  Statute — read   the 
articles — 
Swear,  kiss  the  hook — suhscrihe,  and  be  a  hero  ; 
Drawing  a  portion  from  the  public  stock, 
For  deeds  of  valour  to  be  done  hereafter — 
Sixpence  ptr  day,  subsistence  and  arrears. 

The  Recruiting  Officer. 

An  attendant  upon  the  Archers  having  been 
dismounted,  .Quentin  Durvvard  was  accommoda- 
ted with  his  horse,  and,  in  company  of  his  mar- 
tial countrymen,  rode  at  a  round  pace  towards 
the  Castle  of  Piessis,  about  to  become,  although 
on  his  own  part  involuntarily,  an  inhabitant  of 
that  gloomy  fortress,  the  outside  of  which  had, 
that  morning,  struck  him  with  so  much  surprise. 

In  the  meanwhile,  in  answer  to  his  uncle's  re- 
peated interrogations,  he  gave  him  an  exact  ac- 
count of  the  accident  which  had  that  morning 
brought  him  into  so  much  danger.  Although  he 
himself  saw  nothing  in  his  narrative  save  what 
was  affecting,  he  fotind  it  was  received  with 
much  laughter  by  his  escort. 

"  And  yet  it  is  no  good  jest  either,"  said  his 
uncle,  ufor  what,  in  the  devil's  name,  could  lead 
the  senseless  boy  to  meddle  with  the  body  of  a 
cursed  misbelieving  Jewish  Moorish  pagan?" 

"Had  he  quarrelled  with  the  Marshals-men 
about  a  pretty  wench,  as  Michael  of  Moffat  did, 
there  had  been  more  sense  in  it,"  said  Cunning- 
ham. 

4W  But  I  think  it  touches  our  honour,  that 
Tristan  and  his  people  pretend  to  confound  our 
Scottish  bonnets  with  these  pilfering  vagabonds' 
tocques  and  tur bands,  as  they  call  them,"  said 


THE    ENROLMENT.  9T 

Lindesay — 1<  If  they  have  not  eyes  to  see  the 
difference,  they  must  be  taught  by  rule  of  hand. 
But  it's  my  belief,  Tristan  but  pretends  to  mis- 
take, that  he  may  snap  up  the  kindly  Scots  that 
come  over  to  see  their  kinsfolks." 

4«  May  I  ask,  kinsman,"  said  Quentin,  <■<  what 
sort  of  people  these  are  of  whom  you  speak?" 

'« In  troth  you  may  ask,"  said  his  uncle,  but 
I  know  not,  fair  nephew,  who  is  able  to  answer 
you.  Not  I,  I  am  sure,  although  I  know,  it  may 
be,  as  much  as  other  people  ;  but  they  have  ap- 
peared in  this  land  within  a  year  or  two.  just  as 
a  flight  of  locusts  might  do." 

44  Ay,"  said  Lindesay,  "  and  Jacques  Bon- 
horame,  (that  is  our  name  for  the  peasant,  young 
man, — you  will  learn  our  way  of  talk  by  times) 
— honest  Jacques,  I  say,  cares  little  what  wind 
either  brings  them  or  the  locusts,  so  he  but  know 
any  gale  that  would  carry  them  away  again." 

«  Do  they  do  so  much  evil  ?  said  the  young 
man. 

4«  Evil  ? — why,  boy,  they  are  heathens,  or 
Jews,  or  Mahomedans  at  the  lease,  and  neither 
worship  our  Lady  nor  the  Saint5 — (crossing  him- 
self)— and  steal  what  they  can  lay  hands  on,  and 
sing,  and  tell  fortunes,"  added  Cunningham. 

11  And  they  say  there  are  some  goodly  wench- 
es amongst  these  women,"  said  Guthrie;  "  but 
Cunningham  knows  that  best." 

44  How,  brother  !"  said  Cunningham  ; 4<  I  trust 
ye  mean  me  no  reproach  ?" 

*'  I  am  sure  I  said  ye  none,"  answered  Guth- 
rie. 

44  I  will  be  judged  by  the  company."  said  Cun- 
ningham.— '4  Ye  said  as  much  as  that  I,  a  Scot- 
tish gentleman,  and  living  within  pale  of  holy 
church,  had  a  fair  friend  amongst  these  off-scour- 
ings  of  Heathenesse." 
Vol.  I.— 9 


98  THE    ENR0LM£N1. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  Balafre,  "  he  did  but  jest 
— -We  will  have  no  quarrels  among  comrades." 

"We  must  have  no  such  jesting  then,"  said 
Cunningham,  murmuring  as  if  he  had  been  speak- 
ing to  his  own  beard. 

"  Be  there  such  vagabonds  in  other  lands  than 
France  ?"  said  Lindesay. 

"  Ay  in  good  sooth,  are  there — tribes  of  them 
have  appeared  in  Germany,  and  in  Spain,  and  in 
England,"  answered  Balafre.  *«  By  the  blessing 
of  good  Saint  Andrew,  Scotland  is  free  of  them 
yet." 

"  Scotland,"  said  Cunningham,  "is  too  cold  a 
country  for  locusts,  and  too  poor  a  country  for 
thieves." 

"  Or  perhaps  John  Highlander  will  suffer  no 
thieves  to  thrive  there  but  his  own,"  said  Gu- 
thrie. 

"  I  let  you  all  know,"  said  Balafre,  "  that  I 
come  from  the  braes  of  Angus,  and  have  gentle 
Highland  kin  in  Glen-isla,  and  I  will  not  have 
the  Highlanders  slandered." 

"  You  will  not  deny  that  they  are  cattle  lift- 
ers ?"  said  Guthrie. 

«  To  drive  a  spreagh,  or  so,  is  no  thievery ,»' 
said  Balafre,  <c  and  that  I  will  maintain  when  and 
how  you  dare." 

"  For  shame,  comrade,"  sa'id  Cunningham  ; 
'«  who  quarrels  now  ?  the  young  man  should  not 
see  such  mad  misconstruction. — Come,  here  we 
are  at  the  chateau.  I  will  bestow  a  runlet  of  wine 
to  have  a  rouse  in  friendship,  and  drink  to  Scot- 
land, Highland  and  Lowland  both,  if  you  will 
meet  me  at  dinner  at  my  quarters." 

<'  Agreed — agreed,"  said  Balafre  ;  (i  and  I 
will  bestow  another,  to  wash  away  unkindness, 
and  to  drink  a  health  to  my  nephew  on  his  first 
entrance  to  our  corps.1' 


THE  ENROLMENT.  99 

At  their  approach,  the  wicket  was  opened,  and 
the  draw-bridge  fell.  One  by  one  they  entered  ; 
but  when  Quentin  appeared,  the  sentinels  crossed 
their  pikes,  and  commanded  him  to  stand,  while 
bows  were  bent  and  harquebusses  aimed  at  him 
from  the  walls — a  rigour  of  vigilance  used,  not- 
withstanding that  the  young  stranger  came  in 
company  or  a  party  of  the  garrison,  nay,  of  the 
very  body  which  furnished  the  sentinels  who 
were  then  on  duty. 

Balafre,  who  had  remained  by  his  nephew's 
side  on  purpose,  gave  the  necessary  explanations, 
and,  after  some  considerable  hesitation  and  de- 
lay, the  youth  was  conveyed  under  a  strong  guard 
to  the  Lord  Crawford's  apartment. 

This  Scottish  nobleman  was  one  of  the  last 
reliques  of  the  gallant  band  of  Scottish  lords  and 
knights  who  had  so  long  and  so  truly  served 
Charles  VI.  in  those  bloody  wars  which  decided 
the  independence  of  the  French  crown,  and  the 
expulsion  of  the  English.  He  had  fought,  when 
a  boy  abreast  with  Douglas  and  with  Buchan, 
had  ridden  beneath  the  banner  of  the  Maid  of 
Arc,  and  was  perhaps  one  of  the  last  of  those  as- 
sociates of  Scottish  chivalry  who  had  so  willingly 
drawn  their  swords  for  the  fleur-de-lys,  against 
the  "auld  enemies  of  England."  Changes  which 
had  taken  place  in  the  Scottish  kingdom,  and 
perhaps  his  having  become  habituated  to  French 
climate  and  manners,  had  induced  the  old  Baron 
to  resign  all  thoughts  of  returning  to  his  native 
country,  the  rather  that  the  high  office  which  he 
held  in  the  household  of  Louis,  and  his  own  frank 
and  loyal  character,  had  gained  a  considerable 
ascendency  over  the  King,  who,  though  in  gene- 
ral no  ready  believer  in  human  virtue  or  honour, 
-rusted  and  confided  in  those  of  the  Lord  Craw- 


100  THK    ENROLMENT. 

ford,  and  allowed  him  the  greater  influence,  be= 
cause  he  was  nevci  known  to  interfere  excepting 
in  matters  which  cone-  rued  his  charge. 

JBalafre  and  Cunningham  followed  Durward 
and  the  guard  to  the  apartment  of  their  officer, 
by  whose  dignified  appearance  as  well  as  with 
the  respect  paid  to  him  by  these  proud  soldiers, 
who  seemed  to  respect  no  one  else,  the  young 
man  was  much  and  strongly  impressed. 

Lord  Crawford  was  tall,  and  through  advanced 
age  had  become  gaunt  and  thin  ;  yet  retaining 
in  his  sinews  the  strength  at  least,  if  not  the  elas- 
ticity, of  youth,  he  was  able  to  endure  the  weight 
of  his  armour  during  a  march  as  well  as  the 
youngest  man  who  rode  in  his  band.  He  was 
hard-favoured,  with  a  scarred  and  weather-bea- 
ten countenance,  and  an  eye  that  had  looked  upon 
death  as  his  play  fellow  in  thirty  pitched  battles, 
but  which  nevertheless  expressed  a  good-humour- 
ed contempt  of  danger,  rather  than  the  ferocious 
courage  of  a  mercenary  soldier.  His  tall  erect 
figure  was  at  present  wrapped  in  a  loose  cham- 
ber-gown, secured  around  him  by  his  buff  belt, 
in  which  was  suspended  his  richlv-hilted  poniard. 
He  had  round  his  neck  the  collar  and  badge  of 
the  order  of  Saint  Michael.  He  sat  upon  a  couch 
covered  with  deer's  hide  and  with  spectacles  on 
his  nose,  (then  a  recent  invention,)  was  labour- 
ing to  read  a  huge  manuscript  called  the  Rosier 
de  la  guerre,  a  code  of  military  and  civil  policy 
which  Louis  had  compiled  for  the  benefit  of  his 
son  the  Dauphin,  and  upon  which  he  was  desi- 
rous to  have  the  opinion  of  the  experienced  Scot- 
tish warrior. 

Lord  Crawford  laid  his  book  somewhat  pee- 
vishly aside  upon  the  entrance  of  these  unexpec- 
ted visitors,  and  demanded,  in  his  broad  national 


THE    ENROLMENT.  101 

dialect,  <l  what  in  the  foul  fiend's  name,  they  lack- 
ed now  ?'» 

Balafre,  with  more  respect  than  perhaps  'r. 
would  have  shewn  to  Louis  himself*  statt 
full  length  the  circumstances  in  which  his  nephew 
was  placed,  and  humbly  requested  his  Lord- 
ship's protection.  Lord  Crawford  listened  very 
attentively.  He  could  not  but  smile  at  the  sim- 
plicity with  which  the  youth  had  interfered  in 
behalf  of  the  hanged  criminal,  but  he  shook  his 
head  at  the  account  which  he  received  of  the 
ruffle  betwixt  the  Scottish  Archers  and  the  Pro- 
vost-Marshal's  guard. 

"  How  often,"  he  said,  "  will  you  bring  me  such 
ill-winded  pirns  to  ravel  out  ?  How  often  must  I 
tell  you,  and  especially  both  you,  Ludovie  Lesly, 
and  you,  Archie  Cunningham,  that  the  foreign 
soldier  should  bare  himself  modestly  and  deco- 
rously towards  the  people  of  the  country,  if  you 
would  not  have  the  whole  dogs  of  the  town  at 
your  heels  !  However,  if  you  must  have  a  bar- 
gain, I  would  rather  it  were  with  that  loon  of  a 
Provost  than  any  one  else  ;  and  I  blame  you 
less  for  this  onslaught  than  for  other  frays  that 
you  have  made,  Ludovie,  for  it  was  but  natural 
and  kindlike  to  help  your  young  kinsman.  The 
simple  bairn  must  come  to  no  sketh  neither  ;  so 
give  me  the  roll  of  the  company  yonder  down 
from  the  shelf  and  we  will  even  add  his  name 
to  the  troop,   that  he  may  enjoy  the  privileges." 

•*  May  it  please  your  Lordship — "said  Dur- 
ward 

««  Is  the  lad  crazed  1"  exclaimed  his  uncle — 
"  Would  you  speak  to  his  Lordship,  without  a 
question  asked  V9 

"  Patience,  Ludovie''  said  Lord  Crawford, 
*<  and  let  us  hear  what  the  bairn  has  to  sa;  .' 

'«  Onlv  this,  if  it  may  please  your  Lordship," 
9+ 


102  THE    ENROLMENT 

replied  Quentin,  "  that  I  told  my  uncle  formerly 
I  had  some  doubts  about  entering  this  service.  I 
have  now  to  say  that  they  are  entirely  removed, 
since  I  have  seen  the  noble  and  experienced  com- 
mander under  whom  I  am  to  serve  j  for  there  is 
authority  in  your  look." 

"  Weel  said,  my  bairn,"  said  the  old  Lord,  not 
insensible  to  the  compliment ;  '<  we  have  had 
some  experience,  had  God  sent  us  grace  to  im- 
prove by  it,  both  in  service  and  in  command. 
There  you  stand,  Quentin,  in  our  honourable 
corps  of  Scottish  Body-Guards,  as  esquire  to 
your  uncle,  and  serving  under  his  lance.  I  trust 
you  will  do  well,  for  you  should  be  a  right  man- 
at-arms,  if  all  be  good  that  is  up-come,  and  you 
are  come  of  a  gentle  kindred. — Ludovic,  you  will 
see  that  your  kinsman  follows  his  exercise  dili- 
gently, for  we  will  have  spears  breaking  one  of 
these  days.'* 

"By  my  hilts,  and  I  am  glad  of  it,  my  Lord 
— this  peace  makes  cowards  of  us  all.  I  myself 
feel  a  sort  of  decay  of  spirit,  closed  up  in  this 
cursed  dungeon  of  a  Castle." 

"  Well,  a  bird  whistled  in  my  ear,"  continued 
Lord  Crawford,  "  that  the  old  banner  will  be 
soon  dancing  in  the  field  again." 

"  I  will  drink  a  cup  the  deeper  this  evening  to 
that  very  tune,"  said  Balafre. 

"  Thou  wilt  drink  to  any  tune,"  said  Lord 
Crawford  ;  "  and  I  fear  me,  Ludovic,  you  will 
drink  a  bitter  browst  of  your  own  brewing  one 
day." 

Leslie,  a  little  abashed,  replied,  "  that  it  had 
not  being  his  wont  for  many  a  day  :  but  his  Lord- 
ship knew  the  use  of  the  company,  to  have  a  ca- 
rouse to  the  health  of  a  new  comrade.'' 

"  True"  said  the  old  leader,  "  I  had  forgot  the 
occasion.    I  will  send  a  few  stoups  of  wine  to  as- 


THE    ENROLMENT.  103 

sist  your  carouse  ;  but  let  it  be  over  by  sunset. 
And,  hark  ye — let  the  soldiers  for  duty  be  care- 
fully pricked  off;  and  see  that  none  of  them  be 
more  or  less  partakers  of  your  debauch." 

"  Your  Lordship  shall  be  lawfully  obeyed/' 
said  Ludovick,  and  your  health  duly  remem- 
bered." 

u  Perhaps,"  said  Lord  Crawford,  "  I  may  look 
in  myself  upon  your  mirth — just  to  see  that  all 
is  carried  decently."  w 

"  Your  Lordship  shall  be  most  dearly  wel- 
come," said  Ludovic  ;  and  the  whole  party  re- 
treated in  high  spirits  to  prepare  for  their  mili- 
tary banquet,  to  which  Leslie  invited  about  a 
score  of  his  comrades,  who  were  pretty  much  in 
the  habit  of  making  their  mess  together. 

A  soldier's  festival  is  generally  a  very  extem- 
pore affair,  providing  there  is  enough  of  meat  and 
drink  to  be  had  ;  but  on  the.  present  occasion, 
Ludovic  bustled  about  to  procure  some  better 
wine  than  ordinary;  observing  that  the  '<  old 
Lord  was  the  surest  gear  in  their  aught,  and  that, 
while  he  preached  sobriety  to  them,  he  himself, 
after  drinking  at  the  royal  table  as  much  wine  as 
he  could  honestly  come  by,  never  omitted  any 
creditable  opportunity  to  fill  up  the  evening  over 
the  wine-pot  ;  so  you  must  prepare  comrades,*'  he 
said,  "  to  hear  the  old  histories  of  the  battles  of 
Vernoil  and  Beauge. 

The  Gothic  apartment  in  which  they  generally 
met  was,  therefore,  hastily  put  into  the  best  or- 
der ;  their  grooms  were  dispatched  to  collect 
green  rushes  to  spread  upon  the  floor  ;  and  ban- 
ners, under  which  the  Scottish  Guard  had  march- 
ed to  battle,  or  which  they  had  taken  from  the 
enemies'  ranks,  were  displayed,  by  way  of  tapes- 
try, over  the  table,  and  around  the  walls  of  the 
chamber. 


104  THE  ENROLMENT. 

The  next  point  was,  to  invest  the  young  re^ 
cruit  as  hastily  as  possible  with  the  dress  and 
appropriate  arms  of  the  Guard,  that  he  might 
appear  in  every  respect  the  sharer  of  its  import- 
ant privileges,  in  virtue  of  which,  and  by  the  sup- 
port of  his  countrymen,  he  might  freely  brave 
the  power  and  the  displeasure  of  the  Provost- 
Marshal — although  the  one  was  known  to  be  as 
formidable,  as  the  other  was  unrelenting. 

The  banquet  was  joyous  in  the  highest  de- 
gree ;  and  the  guests  gave  vent  to  the  whole  cur- 
rent of  their  national  partiality  on  receiving  into 
their  ranks  a  recruit  from  their  beloved  father- 
land. Old  Scottish  songs  were  sung,  old  tales 
of  Scottish  heroes  told — the  achievements  of 
their  fathers,  and  the  scenes  in  which  they  were 
wrought,  were  recalled  to  mind  ;  and,  for  a  time, 
the  rich  plains  of  Touraine  seemed  converted 
into  the  mountainous  and  sterile  regions  of  Cale- 
donia. 

When  their  enthusiasm  was  at  high  flood,  and 
each  was  endeavouring  to  say  something  to  en- 
hance the  dear  remembrance  of  Scotland,  it  re- 
ceived a  new  impulse  from  the  arrival  of  Lord 
Crawford,  who,  as  Balafre  had  well  prophesied, 
sat  as  it  were  on  thorns  at  the  royal  board,  until 
an  opportunity  occurred  of  making  his  escape  to 
the  revelry  of  his  own  countrymen.  A  chair  of 
state  had  been  reserved  for  him  at  the  upper  end 
of  the  table  ;  for,  according  to  the  manners  of 
the  age,  and  the  constitution  of  thatbody,  although 
their  leader  and  commander  under  the  King  and 
High  Constable,  the  members  of  the  corps,  (as 
we  should  now  say  the  privates,)  being  all  rank- 
ed as  noble  by  birth,  their  Captain  sat  with  them 
at  the  same  table  without  impropriety,  and  might 
mingle  when  he  chose  in  their  festivity,  without 
derogation  from  his  dignity  as  commander. 


THE  ENROLMENT.  105 

At  present,  however,  Lord  Crawford  declined 
oecup\  ing  the  seat  prepared  for  him,  and  bidding 
them  M  hold  themselves  merry,"  stood  looking 
on  the  revel  with  a  countenance  which  seemed 
greatly  to  enjoy  it. 

"Let  him  alone,"  whispered  Cunningham  to 
Lindesay,  as  the  latter  offered  the  wine  to  their 
noble  Captain,  "let  him  alone — hurry  no  man?s 
cattle — let  him  take  it  of  his  own  accord." 

In  fact,  the  old  Lord,  who  a*  first  smiled, 
shook  his  head,  and  placed  the  untasted  wine- 
cup  before  him,  began  presently,  as  if  it  were  in- 
abscner  of  mind,  to  sip  a  little  of  the  contents, 
and  in  doing  so,  fortunately  recollected  that  it 
would  be  ill  luck  did  he  not  drink  a  draught  to 
the  health  of  the  gallant  lad  who  had  joined  them 
this  day.  The  pledge  was  filled,  and  answered, 
as  may  be  well  supposed,  with  many  a  joyous 
shout,  when  the  old  leader  proceeded  to  acquaint 
them  that  he  had  possessed  Master  Oliver  with 
an  account  of  what  had  passed  that  day  :  "  And 
as  he  said,  "the  scraper  of  chins  hath  no  great 
love  for  the  stretcher  of  throats,  he  has  joined 
me  in  obtaining  from  the  King  an  order,  com- 
manding the  Provost  to  suspend  all  proceedings, 
under  whatsoever  pretence,  against  Quentin  Dur- 
ward  ;  and  to  respect,  on  all  occasions,  the  privi- 
leges of  the  Scottish  Guard.*' 

Annther  shout  broke  forth,  the  cups  were 
again  filled,  till  the  wine  sparkled  on  the  brim, 
and  there  was  an  acclaim  to  the  health  of  the 
noble  Lord  Crawford,  the  brave  conservator  of 
the  privileges  and  rights  of  his  countrymen.  The 
good  old  Lord  could  not  but  in  courtesy  do  rea- 
son to  this  pledge  also,  and  gliding  into  the  ready 
chair  as  it  were,  without  reflecting  what  he  was 
doing,  he  caused  Quentin  to  come  up  beside 
:;im,  and  assailed  him  with  many  more  questions 


106  THE  ENROLMENT. 

concerning  the  state  of  Scotland,  and  the  great 
families  there,  than  he  was  well  able  to  answer  ; 
while  ever  and  anon,  in  the  course  of  his  queries, 
the  good  Lord  kissed  the  wine-cup  by  way  of 
parenthesis,  remarking,  that  sociality  became 
Scottish  gentlemen,  but  that  young  men,  like 
Quentin,  ought  to  practice  it  cautiously,  lest  it 
might  degenerate  into  excess  ;  upon  which  oc- 
casion he  uttered  many  excellent  things,  until  his 
own  tongue,  although  employed  in  the  praises  of 
temperance,  began  to  articulate  something  thicker 
than  usual.  It  was  now  that,  while  the  military 
ardour  of  the  company  augmented  with  each 
flagon  which  they  emptied,  Cunningham  called 
on  them  to  drink  the  speedy  hoisting  of  the  Ori- 
fiamme  (the  royal  banner  of  France). 

"  And  a  breeze  of  Burgundy  to  fan  it !"  echo- 
ed Lindesay. 

*'  With  all  the  soul  that  is  left  in  this  worn 
body  do  I  accept  the  pledge,  bairns,"  echoed 
Lord  Crawford  ;  "and  as  old  as  I  am,  I  trust  I 
may  see  it  flutter  yet.  Hark  ye,  my  mates,  (for 
wine  had  made  him  something  communicative,) 
ye  are  all  true  servants  to  the  French  crown,  and 
wherefore  should  ye  not  know  there  is  an  envoy 
come  from  Duke  Charles  of  Burgundy,  with  a 
message  of  an  angry  favour." 

'*  I  saw  the  Count  of  Crevecceur's  equipage, 
horses,  and  retinue,"  said  another  of  the  guests, 
••down  at  the  inn  yonder,  at  the  Mulberry 
Grove.  They  say  the  King  will  not  admit  him 
into  the  Castle. 

"Now,  heaven  send  him  an  ungracious  au- 
swer!"  says  Guthrie;  "but  what  is  it  he  com- 
plains of?" 

"  A  world  of  grievances  upon  the  frontier," 
said  Lord  Crawford  ;  "  and  latterly,  that  the 
King  hath  received  under  his  protection   a  lady 


THE  ENROLMENT.  iU) 

of  his  land,  a  young  Countess,  who  hath  fled 
from  Dijon,  because,  being  a  ward  of  the  Duke, 
he  would  have  her  marry  his  favourite,  Campo- 
basso." 

"And  hath  she  actually  come  hither  alone, 
my  Lord  ?"  said  Lindesay. 

"Nay,  not  altogether  alone,  but  with  the  old 
Countess,  her  kinswoman,  who  hath  yielded  to 
her  cousin's  wishes  in  this  matter." 

l*  And  will  the  King,"  said  Cunningham,  "  he 
being  the  Duke's  feudal  sovereign,  interfere  be- 
tween the  Duke  and  his  ward,  over  whom  Charles 
hath  the  same  right,  which,  were  he  himself 
dead,  the  King  would  have  over  the  heiress  of 
Burgundy  ?" 

"  The  King  will  be  ruled,  as  he  is  wont,  by 
rules  of  policy  ;  and  you  know,"  continued  Craw- 
ford, "that  he  hath  not  publicly  received  these 
ladies,  nor  p:aced  them  under  the  protection  of 
his  daughter,  the  Lady  of  Beaujeu,  or  the  Prin- 
cess Joan,  so,  doubtless,  he  will  be  guided  by 
circumstances.  He  is  our  master — but  it  is  no 
treason  to  say,  he  shall  chase  wiih  the  hounds, 
and  run  with  the  hare,  with  any  Prince  in  Chris- 
tendom." 

"  But  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  understands  no 
such  doubling,"  said  Cunningham. 

"  No,"  answered  the  old  Lord  ;  "and,  there- 
fore, it  is  like  to  make  work  between  them." 

"  Well — Saint  Andrew  further  the  fray,"  said 
Balafre.  '<  I  had  it  foretold  me  ten,  ay,  twenty 
years  since,  that  I  was  to  make  the  fortune  of  my 
house  by  marriage.  Who  knows  what  may  hap- 
pen, if  once  we  come  to  fight  for  honour  and  la- 
dies' love,  as  they  do  in  the  old  romaunts  ?" 

"  Thou  name  ladies'  love,  with  such  a  trench 
in  thy  visage!"  said  Gutherie. 


108  THE    ENROLMENT. 

"  As  well  not  love  at  all,  as  love  a  Bohemian 
woman  of  Heathenesse,"  answered  Balafre. 

"  Hold  there,  comrades,"  said  Lord  Crawford; 
"no  tilting  with  sharp  weapons,  no  jesting  with 
keen  scoffs — friends  all.  And  for  the  lady,  she 
is  too  wealthy  to  fall  to  a  poor  Scotch  lord,  or  I 
would  put  in  my  own  claim,  fourscore  years  and 
all,  or  not  very  far  from  it.  But  here  is  her 
health,  nevertheless,  for  they  say  she  is  a  lamp  of 
beauty." 

u  I  think  I  saw  her,"  said  another  soldier, 
"  when  I  was  upon  guard  this  morning  at  the  in- 
ner barrier  ;  but  she  was  more  like  a  dark  lantern 
than  a  lamp,  for  she  and  another  were  brought 
into  the  Chateau  in  close  litters. " 

•*  Shame  !  shame  !  Arnot  !"  said  Lord  Craw- 
ford ;  "  a  soldier  on  duty  should  say  nought  of 
what  he  sees.  Besides,"  he  added,  after  a  pause, 
his  own  curiosity  prevailing  over  the  shew  of  dis-  j 
cipline  which  he  had  thought  it  necessary  to  ex-  " 
ert,  "  why  should  these  litters  contain  this  very 
same  Countess  Isabelle  de  Croye  V 

"  Nay,  my  Lord,"  replied  Arnot,  "  I  know 
nothing  of  it  save  this,  that  my  coutelier  was  air- 
ing my  horses  in  the  road  to  the  village,  and  fell 
in  with  Doguin  the  muleteer,  who  brought  back 
the  litters  to  the  inn,  for  they  belong  to  the  fel- 
low of  the  mulberry-grove  yonder — he  of  the  - 
Fleur-de-Lys,  I  mean — and  so  Doguin  asked 
Saunders  Steed  to  take  a  cup  of  wine,  as  they 
were  acquainted,  which  he  was  no  doubt  willing 
enough  to  do " 

l<  No  doubt — no  doubt,"  said  the  old  Lord  ; 
»'<  it  is  a  thing  I  wish  were  corrected  among  you, 
gentlemen  ;    but  all  your  grooms  and  couteliers,  J 
and  jackmen,  as  we  should  call  them  in  Scotland,   ' 
are  but  too  ready  to  take  a  cup  of  wine  with  any 


*THE    ENROLMENT.  109 

one-^-It  is  a  thing  perilous  in  war,  and  must  be 
amended.  But,  Andrew  Arnot,  this  is  a  long 
tale  of  yours,  and  we  will  cut  it  with  a  drink  ;  as 
the  Highlander  says,  Skeoch  dock  nan  skial,  and 
that's  good  Gaelic. — Here  is  to  the  Countess  Isa- 
belle  of  Croye,  and  a  better  husband  to  her  than 
Campo-basso,  who  is  a  base  Italian  cullion  !  And 
now,  Andrew  Arnot,  what  said  the  muleteer  to 
this  yeoman  of  thine  V* 

<l  Why  he  told  him  in  secrecy,  if  it  please  your 
Lordship,"  continued  Arnot,  "  that  these  two 
ladies  whom  he  had  presently  before  conveyed 
up  to  the  Castle  in  the  close  litters,  were  great 
ladies,  who  had  been  living  in  secret  at  his  mas- 
ter's house  for  some  days,  and  that  the  King  had 
visited  them  more  than  once  very  privately,  and 
had  done  them  great  honour ;  and  that  they  had 
fled  up  to  the  castle,  as  he  believed,  for  fear  of 
the  Count  de  Creveoeur,  the  Duke  of  Burgun- 
dy's ambassador,  whose  approach  was  just  an- 
nounced by  an  advanced  courier." 

"  Ay,  Andrew,  come  you  there  to  me  V9  said 
Guthrie ;  «'  then  I  will  be  sworn  it  was  the  Coun- 
tess whose  voice  I  heard  singing  to  the  lute  as 
I  came  even  pow  through  the  inner  Court — the 
sound  came  from  the  bay  windows  of  the  Dau- 
phin's TVwer ;  and  such  melody  was  there  as 
no  one  <^ver  heard  before  in  the  Castle  of  Plessis 
of  the  Park.  By  my  faith,  I  thought  it  was  mu- 
sic of  the  Fairy  Melusina's  making.  There  I 
stood — though  I  knew  your  board  was  covered, 
and  that  you  were  all  impatient — there  I  stood, 

like " 

'<  Like  an  ass,  Johny  Guthrie,"  said  his  com- 
mander ;  "  thy  long  nose  smelling  the  dinner,  thy 
long  ears  hearing  the  music,  and  thy  short  dis- 
cretion not  enabling  thee  to  tell  which  of  them 
thou  didst  prefer.— Hark  !  is  not  that  the  Cathe- 
Vol.  I.— 10 


I  10  THE    ENROLMENT. 

dral  bell  tolling  to  vespers  ? — Sure  it  cannot  be 
that  time  yet? — The  mad  old  sexton  has  toll'd 
even-song  an  hour  too  soon." 

u  In  faith,  the  bell  rings  but  too  justly  the 
hour,"  said  Cunningham  ;  "  yonder  thes  un  is 
sinking  on  the  west  side  of  the  fair  plain." 

"Ay,"  said  the  Lord  Crawford,  *  is  it  even 
so  ? — Well,  lads,  we  must  live  within  compass — 
Fair  and  soft  goes  far — slow  fire  makes  sweet 
malt — to  be  merry  and  wise  is  a  sound  proverb. — 
One  other  rouse  to  the  weal  of  old  Scotland,  and 
then  each  man  to  his  duty." 

The  parting-cup  was  emptied,  and  the  guests 
dismissed — the  stately  old  Baron  taking  the  Ba- 
lafre's  arm,  under  pretence  of  giving  him  some 
instructions  concerning  his  nephew,  but,  perhaps, 
in  reality  lest  his  own  lofty  pace  should  seem  in 
the  public  eye  less  steady  than  became  his  rank 
and  high  command.  A  solemn  countenance  did 
he  bear  as  he  passed  through  the  two  courts  which 
separated  his  lodging  from  the  festal  chamber, 
and  solemn  as  the  gravity  of  a  hogshead  was  the 
farewel  caution,  with  which  he  prayed  Ludovic 
to  attend  his  nephew's  motions,  especially  in  the 
matters  of  wenches  and  wine  cups. 

Me  an  while,  not  a  word  that  was  spoken  con- 
cerning the  beautiful  Countess  Isabels  had  es- 
caped the  young  Durward,  who,  conducted  into  a 
small  cabin,  which  he  was  to  share  with  hu  un- 
cle's page,  made  his  new  and  lowly  abode  the 
scene  of  much  high  musing.  The  reader  will  ea- 
sily imagine  that  the  young  soldier  should  build 
a  fine  romance  on  such  a  foundation  as  the  sup- 
posed, or  rather  the  assumed,  identification  of  the 
Maiden  of  the  turret,  to  whose  lay  he  had  lis- 
tened with  so  much  interest,  and  the  fair  cup- 
bearer of  iVlaitre  Pierre,  with  a  fugitive  Coun- 
tess, of  rank  and  wealth,  flying  the  pursuit  of  a 


THE    ENVOY.  Ill 

hated  lover,  the  favourite  of  an  oppressive  guar- 
dian, who  abused  his  feudal  power.  There  was 
an  interlude  in  Quentin's  vision  concerning  Mai- 
tre  Pierre,  who  seemed  to  exercise  such  autho- 
rity even  over  the  formidable  officer  from  whose 
hands  he  had  that  day,  with  much  difficulty  made 
his  escape.  At  length  the  youth's  reveries,  which 
had  been  respected  by  little  Will  Harper,  the 
companion  of  his  cell,  were  broken  in  upon  by 
the  return  of  his  uncle,  who  commanded  Quen- 
tin  to  bed,  that  he  might  arise  by  times  in  the 
morning,  and  attend  him  to  his  Majesty's  anti- 
chamber,  to  which  he  was  called  by  his  hour  of 
duty,  along  with  five  of  his  comrades. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 


THE  ENVOY. 


Be  thou  as  lightning  in  the  eyes  of  France; 
For  ere  thou  canst  report  I  will  be  there, 
Tlie  thunder  ot  my  cnnnon  shall  be  heard — 
So,  hence  !   Be  thou  the  trumpet  of  our  wrath. 

King  John, 

Had  sloth  been  a  temptation  by  which  Dur- 
ward  was  easily  beset,  the  noise  with  which  the 
caserne  of  the  guards  resounded  after  the  first 
toll  of  Primes,  had  certainly  banished  the  syren 
from  his  couch  ;  but  the  discipline  of  his  father's 
tower,  and  of  the  convent  of  Aberbrothick,  had 
taught  him  to  start  with  the  dawn,  and  he  did  on 
his  clothes  gaily  amid  the  sounding  of  bugles  and 
the  Hash  of  armour,  which  announced  the  change 


112  THE    ENVOY. 

of  the  vigilant  guards — some  of  whom  were  re- 
turning to  barracks  after  their  nightly  duty,  whilst 
others  were  marching  out  to  that  of  the  morning 
— and  others,  again,  amongst  whom  was  his  un- 
cle, were  arming  for  immediate  attendance  up- 
on the  person  of  Louis.  Quentin  Durward  soon 
put  on,  with  the  feelings  of  so  young  a  man  on 
such  an  occasion,  the  splendid  dress  and  arms  ap- 
pertaining to  his  new  situation  ;  and  his  uncle, 
who  looked  with  great  accuracy  and  interest  to 
see  that  he  was  completely  fitted  out  in  every  re- 
spect, did  not  conceal  his  satisfaction  at  the  im 
provement  which  had  thus  been  made  in  his  ne- 
phew's appearance.  "  If  thou  doest  prove  as 
faithful  and  bold  as  thou  art  well-favoured,  I 
shall  have  in  thee  one  of  the  handsomest  and  best 
esquires  in  the  Guard,  which  cannot  but  be  an 
honour  to  thy  mother's  family.  Follow  me  to 
the  presence-chamber  ;  and  see  thou  keep  close 
at  my  shoulder." 

So  saying,  he  took  up  a  partisan,  large,  weigh- 
ty, and  beautifully  inlaid  and  ornamented,  and  di- 
recting his  nephew  to  assume  a  lighter  weapon 
of  a  similar  description,  they  proceeded  to  the 
inner  court  of  the  palace,  where  their  comrades, 
who  were  to  form  the  guard  of  the  interior  apart- 
ments, were  already  drawn  up,  and  underarms — 
the  squires  each  standing  behind  their  masters, 
to  whom  they  thus  formed  a  second  rank.  Here 
were  also  in  attendance  many  yeomen-prickers, 
with  gallant  horses  and  noble  dogs,  on  which 
Quentin  looked  with  such  inquisitive  delight, 
that  his  uncle  was  obliged  more  than  once  to  re- 
mind him  that  they  were  not  there  for  his  pri- 
vate amusement,  but  for  the  King's,  who  had  a 
strong  passion  for  the  chase,  one  of  the  few  incli- 
nations which  he  indulged,  even  when  coming 
into  competition  with  his   course  of  policy  ;   be- 


THE  ENVOY.  113 

ing  so  strict  a  protector  of  the  game  in  the  royal 
forests,  that  it  was  currently  said,  you  might  kill 
a  man  with  greater  impunity  than  a  stag. 

On  a  signal  given,  the  guards  were  put  into 
motion  by  the  command  of  Balafre,  who  acted  as 
officer  upon  the  occasion  ;  and,  after  some  minu- 
tiae of  word  and  signal,  which  all  went  to  shew 
the  extreme  and  punctilious  jealousy  with  which 
their  duty  was  performed,  they  marched  into  the 
hall  of  audience,  where  the  King  was  immedi- 
ately expected. 

New  as  Quentin  was  to  scenes  of  splendour, 
the  effect  of  that  which  was  now  before  him  ra- 
ther disappointed  the  expectations  which  he  had 
formed  of  the  brilliancy  of  a  court.  There  were 
household  officers  indeed,  richly  attired  ;  there 
were  guards  gallantly  armed,  and  there  were  do- 
mestics of  various  degrees  :  But  he  saw  none  of 
the  ancient  counsellors  of  the  kingdom,  none  of 
the  high  officers  of  the  crown,  heard  none  of  the 
names  which  in  those  days  sounded  an  alarum 
to  chivalry  ;  saw  none  either  of  those  generals 
or  leaders,  who  possessed  of  full  prime  of  man- 
hood, were  the  strength  of  France,  or  of  the  more 
youthful  and  fiery  nobles,  those  early  aspirants  af- 
ter honour,  who  were  her  pride.  The  jealous  ha- 
bits— the  reserved  manners^—the  deep  and  art- 
ful policy  of  the  King,  had  estranged  this  splen- 
did circle  from  the  throne,  and  they  were  only 
called  around  it  upon  certain  stated  and  formal 
occasions,  when  they  went  reluctantly  and  re- 
turned joyfully,  as  the  animals  in  the  fable  are 
supposed  to  have  approached  and  left  the  den  of 
the  lion. 

The  very  few  persons  who  seemed  to  be  there 
in  the  character  of  counsellors,  were  mean-look- 
ing   men,   whose   countenances   sometimes    ex- 
pressed sagacity,  but  whose  manners  shewed  they 
10f 


114  THE    ENVOY. 

were  called  into  a  sphere  for  which  their  pre- 
vious education  and  habits  had  qualified  them 
but  indifferently.  One  or  two  persons,  however, 
did  appear  to  Durward  to  possess  a  more  noble 
mien,  and  the  strictness  of  the  present  duty  was 
not  such  as  to  prevent  his  uncle  from  commu- 
nicating the  names  of  those  whom  he  thus  distin- 
guished. 

With  the  Lord  Crawford,  who  was  in  attend- 
ance, dressed  in  the  rich  habit  of  his  office,  and 
•holding    a  leading  staff    of  silver    in   his   hand, 
Quentin  as  well  as  the  reader,   was  already  ac- 
quainted.  Among  others  who  seemed  of  quality, 
the  most  remarkable  was  the   Count  de  Dunois, 
the  son  of  that  celebrated  Dunois,  known  by  the 
name  of  the  Bastard  of  Orleans,  who,  fighting 
under  the  banner  of  Jeanne  d'Arc,  acted  such  a 
distinguished  part  in  liberating  France  from   the 
English  yoke.     His  son  well  supported  the  high 
renown  which  had  descended  to  him  from  such 
an  honoured  source  ;  and  notwithstanding    his 
connection  with  the  royal  family,  and  his  heredi- 
tary popularity  both  with  the  nobles  and  the  peo- 
ple, Dunois  had,  upon  all  occasions,  manifested 
such  an  open,  frank  loyalty  of  character,  that  he 
seemed  to  have  escaped  all  suspicion,  even  on  the 
part  of  the  jealous  Louis,  who  loved  to  see  him 
near  his  person,  and  sometimes  even  called  him 
to  his  councils.  Although  accounted  complete  in 
all  the  exercises  of  chivalry,  and  possessed   of 
much  of  the  character  of  what  was  then  termed  a 
perfect  knight,  the  person  of  the  Count  was  far 
from  being  a  model  of  romantic  beauty.  He  was 
under  the   common  size,  though  very  strongly 
built,  and  his  legs  rather  curved  outwards,  into 
that  make  which  is  more  convenient  for  horse- 
back, than  elegant  for  a  pedestrian.     His  shoul- 
ders were  broad,  his  hair  black,  his  complexion 


THE  ENVOY.  115 

swarthy,  his  arms  remarkably  long  and  nervous. 
The  features  of  his  countenance  were  irregular, 
even  to  ugliness;  yet,  afer  all,  there  was  an  air 
of  conscious  worth  and  nobility  about  the  Count 
de  Dunois,  which  stamped  at  the  first  glance, 
the  character  of  the  high-born  nobleman,  and  the 
undaunted  soldier.  His  mien  was  bold  and  up- 
right, his  step  free  and  manly,  and  the  harshness 
of  his  countenance  was  dignified  by  a  glance 
like  an  eagle,  and  a  frown  like  a  lion.  His  dress 
was  a  hunting  suit,  rather  sumptuous  than  gay, 
and  he  acted  on  most  occasions  as  Grand  Hunts- 
man, though  we  are  not  inclined  to  believe  that 
he  actually  held  the  office. 

Upon  the  arm  of  Dunois,  walking  with  a  step 
so  slow  and  melancholy,  that  he  seemed  to  rest 
on  his  kinsman  and  supporter,  came  Louis  Duke 
of  Orleans,  the   first  prince   of  the   blood  royal, 
and  to  whom  the  guards  and  attendants  rendered 
their  homage  as  such.   The  jealously-watched  ob- 
ject of  Louis's  suspicions,  this  Prince,  who,  fail- 
ing the  king's  offspring,  was  heir  to  the  kingdom, 
was  not  suffered   to    absent  himself  from  court, 
and,  while  residing  there,  was  denied  alike   em- 
ployment and  countenance.  The  dejection  which 
his  degraded  and   almost  captive  state  naturally 
impressed  on  the  deportment  of  this  unfortunate 
prince,  was   at   this  moment  greatly  increased, 
by  his   consciousness  that  the  king   meditated, 
with  respect  to  him,  one  of  the  most  cruel  and 
unjust  actions  which  a  tyrant  could  commit,  by 
compelling  him  to  give   his  hand  to  the  princess 
Joan  of  France,  the  younger  daughter  of  Louis, 
to  whom  he  had  been  contracted  in  infancy,  but 
whose  deformed  person  rendered   the    insisting 
upon  such  an   agreement  an  act  of  abominable 
rigour. 

The  exterior  of  this  unhappy  prince  was  in 


116  THE     ENVOY. 

no  respect  distinguished  by  personal  advantages  ; 
and  in  mind  he  was  of  a  gentle,  mild,  and  bene-' 
ficent  disposition,  qualities  which  were  even  vi- 
sible through  the  veil  of  extreme  dejection,  with 
which  his  natural  character  was  at  present  ob- 
scured. Quentin  observed  that  he  studiously 
avoided  even  looking  at  the  Royal  Guards,  and 
when  he  returned  their  salute,  that  the  Duke 
kept  his  eyes  bent  on  the  ground,  as  if  he  feared 
the  king's  jealousy  might  have  construed  that 
gesture  of  ordinary  courtesy,  as  arising  from  the 
purpose  of  establishing  a  separate  and  personal 
interest  among  them. 

Very  different  was  the  conduct  of  the  proud 
cardinal  and  prelate,  John  of  fialue/the  favourite 
minister  of  Louis  for  the  time,  whose  rise  and 
character  bore  as  close  a  resemblance  to  that  of 
Wolsey,  as  the  difference  betwixt  the  crafty  and 
politic  Louis,  and  the  headlong  and  rash  Henry 
VIII.  of  England,  would  permit.     The  former 
had  raised  his  minister  from  the  lowest  rank  to 
the  dignity,  or  at  least  to   the   emoluments,  of 
Grand  Almoner  of  France,  loaded  him  with  be- 
nefices, and  obtained  for  him  the  hat  of  a  cardi- 
nal ;  and  although  he  was  too  cautious  to  repose 
in  the  ambitious  Balue  the  unbounded  power  and 
trust  which  Henry  placed  in  Wolsey,  yet  he  was 
more  influenced  by  him  than  by  any  other  of  his 
avowed  counsellors.     The  cardinal,  accordingly, 
had  not   escaped   the    error   incidental  to  those 
who  are  suddenly  raised  to  power  from  an  ob- 
scure situation,  for  he  entertained  a  strong  per- 
suasion, dazzled  doubtless  by  the  suddenness  of 
his  elevation,  that  his  capacity  was  equal  to  in- 
termeddling with    affairs  of   every   kind,    even 
those  most  foreign  to  his  profession  and  studies. 
Tali  and  ungainly  in  his  person,  he  affected  gal- 
lantry and  admiration  of  the  fair  sex,  although 


THE    ENVOY.  117 

his  manners  rendered  his  pretensions  absurd,  and 
his  profession  marked  them  as  indecorous.  Some 
male  or  female  flatterer  had,  in  evil  hour,  pos- 
sessed him  with  the  idea  that  there  was  much 
beauty  of  contour  in  a  pair  of  huge  substantial 
legs,  which  he  had  derived  from  his  father,  a 
ear-man  of  Limoges  ;  and  with  this  idea  he  had 
become  so  infatuated,  that  he  always  had  his 
cardinal's  robes  a  little  looped  up  on  one  side, 
that  the  sturdy  proportion  of  his  limbs  might 
not  escape  observation.  As  he  swept  through 
the  stately  apartment  in  his  crimson  dress  and 
rich  cope,  he  stopped  repeatedly  to  look  at  the 
arms  and  appointments  of  the  cavaliers  on  guard, 
asked  them  several  questions  in  an  authoritative 
tone,  and  took  upon  him  to  censure  some  of 
them  for  what  he  termed  irregularities  of  disci- 
pline, in  language  to  which  these  experienced 
soldiers  dared  no  reply,  although  it  was  plain 
they  listened  to  it  with  impatience  and  with  con- 
tempt. 

lw  Is  the  king  aware,"  said  Dunois  to  the  car- 
dinal, "  that  the  Burgundian  Envoy  is  peremptory 
in  demanding  an  audience?" 

I*  He  is,'1  answered  the  cardinal;  **  and  here, 
as  I  think,  comes  the  all-sufficient  Oliver  Dain, 
to  let  us  know  his  royal  pleasure." 

As  he  spoke,  a  remarkable  person,  who  then 
divided  the  favour  of  Louis  with  the  proud  Car- 
dinal himself,  entered  from  the  inner  apartment, 
but  without  any  of  that  important  and  consequen- 
tial demeanour  which  marked  the  full-blown 
dignity  of  the  churchman.  On  the  contrary, 
this  was  a  little,  pale,  meagre  man,  whose  black 
silk  jerkin  and  hose,  without  either  coat,  cloak, 
or  cassock,  were  ill  qualified  to  set  off  to  advan- 
tage a  very  ordinary  person.  He  carried  a  silver 
basin  in  his  hand,  and   a   napkin   flung  over  his 


118  THE    ENVOY. 

arm  indicated  his  menial  capacity.     His  visage 
was  penetrating  and  quick,  although  he    endea- 
voured to  banish  such  expression  from   his  fea- 
tures, by  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground, 
as,  with  the  stealthy  and  quiet  pace  of  a  cat,  he 
seemed   modestly  rather  to   glide   than   to  walk 
through  the   apartment.      But   though   modesty 
may  easily  disguise  worth,  it  cannot  hide  court- 
favour  ;    and  all  attempts  to   steal   unperceived 
through  the  presence-chamber  were  vain,  on  the 
part  of  one  known  to  have  such  possession  of  the 
King's  ear,  as  had  been  attained  by  his  celebrated 
barber  and  grcom  of  the  chamber,  Oliver  le  Dain, 
called   sometimes  Oliver  le  Mauvais,  and  some- 
times Oliver  le  Diable,  epithets  derived  from  the 
unscrupulous  cunning  with  which  he  assisted  the 
execution  of  the  schemes  of  his  master's  tortuous 
policy.     At  present  he  spoke  earnestly  for  a  few 
moments  with  the  Count  de   Dunois,  who   in- 
stantly left  the  chamber,  while  the  tonsor  glided 
quietly  back  towards  the  royal  apartment  whence 
he  had  issued,  every  one  giving  place   to  him  ; 
which  civility  he  only  acknowledged  by  the  most 
humble  inclination  of  the   body,  excepting  in  a 
very  few   instances,  where  he  made  one  or  two 
persons  the  subject  of  envy  to  all  the  other  cour- 
tiers by  whispering  a  single  word  in  their  ear; 
and  at  the  same  time  muttering  something  of  the 
duties  of  his  place,  he  escaped  from  their  replies, 
as  well  as   from  the  eager  solicitations  of  those 
who  wished  to  attract  his  notice.    Ludovic  Lesly 
had  the  good  fortune  to  be  one  of  the  individuals 
who,  on  the   present  occasion,  was    favoured  by 
Oliver  with  a  single  word,   to  assure   him   that 
his  matter  was  fortunately  terminated. 

Presently  afterwards,  he  had  another  proof  of 
the  same  agreeable  tidings,  for  Tristan  I'Hermite, 
the  Provost-Marshal  of  the  Roval  Household, 


THE    ENVOY.  119 

entered  the  apartment,  and  came  straight  to  the 
place  where  Le  Balafre  was  posttd.  This  for- 
midable officer's  dress,  which  was  very  rich,  had 
only  the  effect  of  making  his  sinister  countenance 
and  bad  mien  more  strikingly  remarkable,  and 
the  tone  which  he  meant  for  conciliatory,  was 
like  nothing  so  much  as  the  growling  of  a  bear. 
The  import  of  his  words,  however,  was  more 
amicable  than  the  voice  in  which  they  were  pro- 
nounced. He  regretted  the  mistake  which  had 
fallen  between  them  on  the  preceding  day,  and 
observed  it  was  owing  to  the  Sieur  Le  Balafre's 
nephew  not  wearing  the  uniform  of  his  corps,  or 
announcing  himself  as  belonging  to  it,  which  had 
led  him  into  the  error  for  which  he  now  asked 
forgiveness. 

Ludovic  Lesly  made  the  necessary  reply,  and 
as  soon  as  Tristan  had  turned  away,  observed  to 
his  nephew,  that  they  had  now  the  distinction  of 
having  a  mortal  enem)  from  henceforward  in  the 
person  of  this  dreaded  officer.  «  But  a  soldier," 
said  he,  "  who  docs  his  duty  may  laugh  at  the 
Provost- Marshal." 

Quentin  could  not  help  being  of  his  uncle's 
opinion,  for,  as  Tr'stan  parted  from  them,  it  was 
wift  the  look  of  angry  defiance  which  the  bear 
casts  upon  the  hunter  whose  spear  has  wounded 
him.  Indeed,  even  when  less  strongly  moved, 
"^  sulle«  eye  expressed  a  malevolence  of  pur- 
pose which  made  men  shudder  to  meet  his 
glance;  and  'he  thrill  of  the  young  Scot  was  the 
deeper  *t.d  tfcore  abhorrent,  that  he  seemed  to 
Kim  self  stJl  to  Seel  on  nis  shoulders  the   grasp 

m "' ~K  two  aeath-doing  functionaries  of  this  faial 
offi  er.  ° 

^fff*,  Oliver,  after  he  had  prowled 
arouwi  the  .  ,m  jr.  thc  Sltalthy  manner  Nvhich 
we  have  endeav.urtd  to  describe,_ali,  even  the 


120  THE  ENVOY. 

highest  officers,  making  way  for  him,  and  loading 
him  with  their  ceremonious  attentions,  which  his 
modesty  seemed  desirous  to  avoid, — again  enter- 
ed the  inner  apartment,  the  doors  of  which  were 
presently  thrown  open,  and  King  Louis  entered 
the  presence-chamber. 

Quentin,  like  all  others,  turned  his  eyes  upon 
him  ;  and  started  so  suddenly,  that  he  almost 
dropped  his  weapon,  when  he  recognised  in  the 
King  of  France  that  silk-merchant,  JVlaitre  Pierre, 
who  had  been  the  companion  of  his  morning 
walk.  Singular  suspicions  respecting  the  real 
rank  of  this  person  had  at  different  times  crossed 
his  thoughts  ;  but  this,  the  proved  reality,  was 
wilder  than  his  wildest  conjecture. 

The  stern  look  of  his   uncle,  offended  at  this 
breach  of  the  decorum  of  his  office,  recalled  him 
to  himself;   but  not   a  little  was   he  astonished 
when  the  King,   whose    quick  eye   had  at  once 
discovered    him,   walked    straight  to  the   place 
where   he  was  posted,  without  taking  notice  of 
any  one  else.— ."  So,"  he  said, "  young  man,  I  am 
told  you  have  been  brawling  on  your  first  arrival 
in  Touraine  ;  but  I  pardon  you,  as  it  was  chiefH 
the  fault  of  a  foolish  old  merchant,  who  thought 
your  Caledonian  blood  required  to  be  heated  in 
the  morning  with  Vin  de  Beaulne.     If  I  can  find 
him,  I  will  make  him  an  example  to  these  who 
debauch  my  Guards. — Balafre,"  he  addfd,  speak- 
ing to  Lesly,   '<  your  kinsman  is  a  &ir  yo».;th, 
though  a  fiery.     We  love  to  cherish  such  spirits, 
and  mean  to  make  more  than  ever  we  dM  of  the 
brave   men  who   are  around  us      Let  the  yea»» 
day,  hour,  and   minute  of  his   birth  be  wr;*ten 
down,  and  given  to  Oliver  Dain." 

Balafre  bowed  to  the  ground,  and  --assumed 
his  erect  military  position,as  one  w^°  would  shew 
by  his  demeanour  his  prompti*-»de  to  act  in  ™ 


THE  ENVOY.  121 

King's  quarrel  or  defence.  Quentin,  in  the 
meantime,  recovered  from  his  first  surprise,  stu- 
died the  King's  appearance  more  attentively,  and 
was  surprised  to  find  how  differently  he  construed 
his  deportment  and  features. 

Thrse  were  not  much  changed  in  exterior^  for 
Louis,  always  a  scorner  of  outward  show,  wore, 
on  the  present  occasion,  an  old  dark-blue  hunt- 
ing-dress, not  much  better  than  the  plain  burgher 
suit  of  the  preceding  day,  and  garnished  with  a 
huge  rosary  of  ebony,  which  had  been  sent  to 
him  by  no  less  a  personage  than  the  Grand  Seig- 
nior, with  an  attestation  that  it  had  been  used 
by  a  Coptic  hermit  on  Mount  Lebanon,  a  per- 
sonage of  profound  sanctity.  And  for  his  cap 
with  a  single  image,  he  now  wore  a  hat,  the  band 
of  which  was  garnished  with  at  least  a  dozen  of 
little  paltry  figures  of  saints  stamped  in  lead. 
But  those  eyes,  which  according  to  Quentin's 
former  impression,  only  twinkled  with  the  love 
of  gain,  had,  now  that  they  were  known  to  be 
the  property  of  an  able  and  powerful  monarch,  a 
piercing  and  majestic  glance  ;  and  those  wrinkles 
on  the  brow,  which  he  had  supposed  were  form- 
ed during  a  long  series  of  petty  schemes  of  com- 
merce, seemed  now  the  furrows  which  sagacity 
had  worn  while  toiling  in  meditation  upon  the 
fate  of  nations. 

Presently  after  the  King's  appearance,  the 
Princesses  of  France,  with  the  ladies  of  their 
suite,  entered  the  apartment.  With  the  eldest, 
afterwards  married  to  Peter  of  Bourbon,  and 
known  in  French  history  by  the  name  of  the 
Lady  of  Beaujeu,  our  story  has  but  little  to  do. 
She  was  tail,  and  rather  handsome,  possessed  elo- 
quence, talent,  and  much  of  her  father's  sagacity, 
who  reposed  much  confidence  in  her,  and  loved 
her  as  much  perhaps  as  he  loved  any  one. 

Vol.  I.— 11 


122  THE  ENVOY. 

The  younger  sister,  the  unfortunate  Joan,  the 
destined  bride  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  advanced 
timidly  by  the  side  of  her  sister,  conscious  of  a 
total  want  of  those  external  qualities  which  wo- 
men are  most  desirous  of  possessing,  or  being 
thought  to  possess.  She  was  pale,  thin,  and 
sickly  in  her  complexion,  her  shape  visibly  bent 
to  one  side,  and  her  gait  so  unequal  that  she 
might  be  called  lame.  A  fine  set  of  teeth,  and 
eyes  which  were  expressive  of  melancholy,  soft- 
ness, and  resignation,  with  a  quantity  of  light 
brown  locks,  were  the  only  redeeming  points 
which  flattery  itself  could  have  dared  to  number, 
to  counteract  the  general  homeliness  of  her  face 
and  figure.  To  complete  the  picture,  it  was 
easy  to  remark,  from  the  Princess's  negligence  in 
dress,  and  the  timidity  of  her  manner,  that  she 
had  an  unusual  and  distressing  consciousness  of 
her  own  plainness  of  appearance,  and  did  not 
dare  to  make  any  of  those  attempts  to  mend  by 
manners  or  by  art  what  nature  had  left  amiss,  or 
in  any  other  way  to  exert  a  power  of  pleasing. 
The  King  (who  loved  her  not)  stepped  hastil\  to 
her  as  she  entered. — «'  How  now  !''  he  said,  "  our 
world-contemning  daughter — Are  you  robed  for 
a  hunting-party,  or  for  the  convent,  this  morn- 
ing ?  Speak — answer." 

'«  For  which  your  highness  pleases,  sire,"  said 
the  Princess,  scarce  raising  her  voice  above  her 
breath. 

44  Ay,  doubtless,  you  would  persuade  me  it  is 
your  desire  to  quit  the  court,  Joan,  and  renounce 
the  world  and  its  vanities. — Ha!  maiden,  wouldst 
thou  have  it  thought  that  we,  the  first-born  of 
Holy  Church,  would  refuse  our  daughter  to 
Heaven? — Our  Lady  and  Saint  Martin  forbid 
we  should  refuse  the  offering,  were  it  worthy  of 


THE  ENVOY.  123 

the  altar,  or  were  thy  vocation  in  truth  thither- 
ward." 

So  saying,  the  King  crossed  himself  devoutly, 
looking,  in  the  mean  time,  as  appeared  to  Quen- 
tin,  very  like  a  cunning  vassal,  who  was  depre- 
ciating the  merit  of  something  which  he  was  de- 
sirous to  keep  to  himself,  in  order  that  he  might 
stand  excused  for  not  offering  it  to  his  chief  or 
superior.  "  Dares  he  thus  play  the  hypocrite 
with  Heaven, *  thought  Durward,  l«  and  sport 
with  God  and  the  Saints,  as  he  may  safely  do 
with  men,  who  dare  not  search  his  nature  too 
closely  ;" 

Louis  meantime  resumed,  after  a  moment's 
mental  devotion — "  No,  fair  daughter,  I  and 
another  know  your  real  mind  better — Ha  !  fair 
cousin  of  Orleans,  do  we  not?  Approach,  fair 
sir,  and  lead  this  devoted  vestal  of  our's  to  her 
horse.'-' 

Orleans  started  when  the  King  spoke,  and 
hastened  to  obey  him  ;  but  with  such  precipita- 
tion of  step,  and  confusion,  that  Louis  called  out, 
"  Nay,  Cousin,  rein  your  gallantry,  and  look  be 
fore  you. — Why,  what  a  headlong  matter  a  gal- 
lant's haste  is  on  some  occasions  ! — Y«>u  had  well 
nigh  taken  Anne's  hand  instead  of  her  sister's. 
—Sir,  must  I  give  Joan's  to  you  myself:"' 

The  unhappy  Prince  looked  up,  and  shudder- 
ed like  a  child,  when  forced  to  touch  something 
at  which  it  has  instinctive  horror — then  making 
an  effort,  took  the  hand  which  the  Princess  nei- 
ther gave  not  yet  withheld.  As  they  stood,  her 
cold  damp  fingers  enclosed  in  his  trembling  hand, 
with  their  eyes  looking  on  the  ground,  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  say  which  of  these  two 
youthful  beings  was  rendered  most  utterly  mi- 
serable— the  Duke,  who  felt  himself  fettered  to 


t24  THE  ENVOY. 

the  object  of  his  aversion  by  bonds  which  he  durst 
not  tear  asunder,  or  the  unfortunate  young  wo- 
man, who  too  plainly  saw  that  she  was  an  object 
of  abhorrence  to  him,  to  gain  whose  kindness  she 
would  willingly  have  died. 

u  And  now  to  horse,  gentlemen  and  ladies — 
We  will  ourselves  lead  forth  our  daughter  of 
Beaujeu,"  said  the  King;  "and  God's  blessing 
and  Saint  Hubert's  be  on  our  morning  sport." 

"  I  am,  I  fear,  doomed  to  interrupt  it,  sire," 
said  the  Compte  de  Dunois— "  The  Burgundian 
Envoy  is  before  the  gates  of  the  Castle,  and  de- 
mands an  audience." 

"  Demands  an  audience,  Dunois  ?'"  replied  the 
King — ««  Did  you  not  answer  him,  as  we  sent  you 
word  by  Oliver,  that  we  were  not  at  leisure  to 
see  him  to-day, — and  that  to-morrow  was  the 
festival  of  Saint  Martin,  which,  please  Heaven, 
we  would  disturb  by  no  earthly  thoughts, — and 
that  on  the  succeeding  day  we  were  designed  for 
Amboise — but  that  we  would  not  fail  to  appoint 
him  as  early  an  audience,  when  we  returned,  as 
our  pressing  affairs  would  permit?" 

"All  this  I  said,"  answered  Dunois;  "but 
yet,  sire " 

"  Pasques-dieu  /  man,  what  is  it  that  thus 
sticks  in  thy  throat  ?"  said  the  King.  "This 
Burgundian's  terms  must  have  been  hard  of  di- 
gestion." 

"Had  not  my  duty,  your  Grace's  commands, 
and  his  character  as  an  Envoy  restrained  me," 
said  Dunois,  ♦'  he  should  have  tried  to  digest 
them  himself;  for,  by  our  Lady  of  Orleans,  I 
had  more  mind  to  have  made  him  eat  his  own 
words,  than  to  have  brought  them  to  your  Ma- 
jesty." 

<4  Body  of  me,  Dunois,"  said  the  King,  i{  it  is 
strange  that  thou,  one  of  the  most  impatient  fel- 


THE  ENVOY,  125 

lows  alive,  should'st  have  so  little  sympathy  with 
the  like  infirmity  in  our  blunt  and  fiery  cousin, 
Charles  of  Burgundy. — Why,  man,  I  mind  his 
blustering  messages  no  more  than  the  towers  of 
this  Castle  regard  the  whistling  of  the  north-east 
wind,  which  comes  from  Flanders,  as  well  as 
this  brawling  Envoy." 

*k  Know  then  sire,"  replied  Dunois,  "  that  the 
Count  of  Crevecceur  tarries  below  with  his  reti- 
nue of  pursuivants  and  trumpets,  and  says,  that 
since  your  Majesty  refuses  him  the  audience 
which  his  master  has  instructed  him  to  demand, 
upon  matters  of  most  pressing  concern,  he  will 
remain  there  till  midnight,  and  accost  your  Ma- 
jesty at  whatever  hour  you  are  pleased  to  issue 
from  your  Castle,  whether  for  business,  exercise, 
or  devotion  ;  and  that  no  consideration,  except 
the  use  of  absolute  force,  shall  compel  him  to 
desist  from  this  resolution." 

4<  He  is  a  fool,"  said  the  King,  with  much 
composure.  "  Does  the  hot-headed  Hainaulter 
think  it  any  penance  for  a  man  of  sense  to  re- 
main for  twenty-four  hours  quiet  within  the  walls 
of  his  Castle,  when  he  hath  the  affairs  of  a  king- 
dom to  occupy  him  ?  These  impatient  coxcombs 
think  that  all  men,  like  themselves,  are  misera- 
ble, save  when  in  saddle  and  stirrup.  Let  the 
dogs  be  put  up,  and  well  looked  to,  gentle  Du- 
nois— We  will  hold  council  to-day,  instead  of 
hunting." 

"My  Liege,"  answered  Dunois,  l'you  will 
not  thus  rid  yourself  of  Crevecceur  ;  for  his  mas- 
ter's instructions  are,  that  if  he  hath  not  this  au- 
dience which  he  demands,  he  shali  nail  his  gaunt- 
let to  the  palisades  before  the  Casde,  in  token  of 
mortal  defiance  on  the  part  of  his  master,  shall 
renounce  the  Duke's  fealty  to  France,  and  de- 
clare instant  war." 


THE  ENVOY. 

"  Ay,"  said  Louis,  without  any  perceptible  al- 
teration of  voice,  but  frowning  until  his  piercing 
dark  eyes  became  almost  invisible  under  his 
shaggy  eye-brows,  ««  is  it  even  so  ? — will  our  an- 
cient vassal  prove  so  masterful — our  dear  cousin 
treat  us  thus  unkindly  ? — Nay  then,  Dunois,  we 
must  unfold  the  Oriflamme,  and  cry  Dennis 
MontjoyeP* 

"  Marry  and  amen,  and  in  a  most  happy  hour!" 
said  the  martial  Dunois  ;  and  the  guards  in  the 
hall,  unable  to  resist  the  same  impulse,  stirred 
each  upon  his  post,  so  as  to  produce  a  low  but 
distinct  sound  of  clashing  arms.  The  King  cast 
his  eye  proudly  round,  and,  for  a  moment, 
thought  and  looked  like  his  heroic  father. 

But  the  excitement  of  the  moment  presently 
gave  way  to  the  host  of  political  considerations* 
which,  at  that  conjuncture,  rendered  an  open 
breach  with  Burgundy  so  peculiarly  perilous. 
Edward  IV.,  a  brave  and  victorious  King,  who 
had  in  his  own  person  fought  thirty  battles, 
was  now  established  on  the  throne  of  England, 
was  brother  to  the  Duchess  of  Burgundy,  and, 
it  might  well  be  supposed,  waited  but  a  rupture 
between  his  near  connection  and  Louis,  to  carry 
into  France,  through  the  ever-open  gate  of  Ca- 
lais, those  arms  which  had  been  triumphant  in 
the  civil  wars,  and  to  obliterate  the  recollection 
of  civil  dissentions  by  that  most  popular  of  all 
occupations  amongst  the  English,  an  invasion  of 
France.  To  this  consideration  was  added  the 
uncertain  faith  of  the  Duke  of  Bretagne,  and 
other  weighty  subjects  of  reflection.  So  that 
after  a  deep  pause,  when  Louis  again  spoke, 
although  in  the  same  tone,  it  was  with  an  altered 
spirit.  "  But  God  forbid,"  he  said,  "  that  aught 
less  than  necessity  should  make  us,  the  Most 
Christian  King,  give   cause  to  the  effusion  of 


THE  ENVOY.  127 

Christian  blood,  if  any  thing  short  of  dishonour 
may  avert  such  a  calamity.  We  tender  our  sub- 
jects' safety  dearer  than  the  ruffle  which  our  own 
dignity  may  receive  from  the  rude  breath  of  a 
malapert  ambassador,  who  hath  perhaps  exceed- 
ed the  errand  with  which  he  was  charged — 
Admit  the  Envoy  of  Burgundy  to  our  presence." 

" Beatie pacifici"  said  the  Cardinal  Balue. 

«'True  ;  and  your  eminence  knoweth  that  they 
who  humble  themselves  shall  be  exalted,"  added 
the  King. 

The  Cardinal  spoke  an  Amen,  to  which  h\v 
assented  ;  for  even  the  pale  cheek  of  Orleans  kin- 
dled with  shame,  and  Balafre  suppressed  his 
feelings  so  little  as  to  let  the  butt-end  of  his  par- 
tisan fall  heavily  on  the  floor,— a  movement  of 
impatience  for  which  he  underwent  a  bitter  re- 
proof from  the  Cardinal,  with  a  lecture  on  the 
mode  of  handling  his  arms  when  in  presence  of 
the  Sovereign.  The  King  himself  seemed  unu- 
sually embarrassed  at  the  silence  around  him. 
"  You  are  pensive,  Dunois,"  he  said — tk  You  dis- 
approve of  our  giving  way  to  this  hot-headed 
Envoy." 

"By  no  means,"  said  Dunois;  i(  I  meddle 
not  with  matters  beyond  my  sphere.  I  was  but 
thinking  of  asking  a  boon  of  your  Majesty." 

"  A  boon,  Dunois — what  is  it? — You  are  ?n 
unfrequent  suitor,  and  may  count  on  our  favour." 

"  I  would,  then,  your  Majesty  would  send  me 
to  Evreux,  to  regulate  the  clergy,"  said  Dunois, 
with  military  frankness. 

"  That  were  indeed  beyond  thy  sphere,"  re- 
plied the  King,  smiling. 

"  I  might  order  priests  as  well,"  replied  the 
Count,  "as  my  Lord  Bishop  of  Evreux,  or  my- 
Lord  Cardinal,  if  he  likes  the  title  better,  can  ex- 
ercise the  soldiers  of  your  Majesty's  guard." 


128  THE  ENVOY. 

The  King  smiled  again,  and  more  mysterious- 
ly, while  he  whispered  Dunois,  4«  The  time  may 
come  when  you  and  I  will  regulate  the  priests 
together — But  this  is  for  the  present  a  good  con- 
ceited animal  of  a  Bishop.  Ah  !  Dunois — Rome, 
Rome  puts  him  and  other  burthens  upon  us — 
But  patience,  cousin,  and  shuffle  the  cards,  till 
our  hand  is  a  stronger  one.*'* 

The  flourish  of"  the  trumpets  in  the  court-yard 
now  announced  the  arrival  of  the  Burgundian 
nobleman.  All  in  the  presence-chamber  made 
haste  to  arrange  themselves  according  to  their 
proper  places  of  precedence,  the  King  and  his 
daughters  remaining  in  the  centre  of  the  assem- 
bly. 

The  Count  of  Crevecceur,  a  renowned  and  un- 
daunted warrior,  entered  the  apartment  ;  and 
contrary  to  the  usage  among  the  envoys  of  friend- 
ly powers,  he  appeared  all  armed,  excepting  his 
head,  in  a  gorgeous  suit  of  the  most  superb  Mi- 
lan armour,  made  of  steel,  inlaid  and  embossed 
with  gold,  which  was  wrought  into  the  fantastic 
taste  called  the  Arabesque.  Around  his  neck, 
and  over  his  polished  cuirass,  hung  his  master's 
order  of  the  Golden  Fleece,  one  of  the  most  ho- 
noured associations  of  chivalry  then  known  in 
Christendom.  A  handsome  page  bore  his  hel- 
met behind  him,  a  herald  preceded  him,  bearing 
his  letters  of  credence,  which  he  offered  on  his 
knee  to  the  King  j  while  the  ambassador  him- 
self paused  in  the  midst  of  the  hall,  as  if  to  give 
present  time  to  admire  his  lofty  look,  command- 

*  Dr.  Dryasdust  here  remarks,  that  cards,  said  to  have  been  in- 
vented hi  a  preceding  reign,  for  the  amusement  of  Charles  V.  dur- 
ing the  intervals  of  his  mental  lisorder,  seem  speedily  to  h-ive  be- 
come common  among  the  courtiers,  since  they  already  furnished 
Louis  XI.  with  a  metaphor.  The  same  proverb  was  quoted  by 
Darandarte,  in  the  enchanted  cave  of  Montesiuos. 


THE  ENVOY.  129 

ing  stature,  and  undaunted  composure  of  coun- 
tenance and  manner.  The  rest  of  his  attendants 
waited  in  the  anti-chamber  or  court-yard. 

""Approach,  Seignior  Count  de  Crevecceur," 
said  Louis,  after  a  moment's  glance  at  his  com- 
mission ;  ««  We  need  not  our  Cousin's  letters  of 
credence,  either  to  introduce  to  us  a  warrior  so 
well  known,  or  to  assure  us  of  your  highly  de- 
served credit  with  your  master.  We  trust  that 
your  fair  partner,  who  shares  some  of  our  ances- 
tral blood,  is  in  good  health.  Had  you  brought 
her  in  your  hand,  Seignior  Count,  we  might 
have  thought  you  wore  your  armour,  on  this  un- 
wonted occasion,  to  maintain  the  superiority  of 
her  charms  against  the  amorous  chivalry  of 
France.  As  it  is  we  cannot  guess  the  reason  of 
this  complete  panoply." 

"  Sire,"  replied  the  ambassador,  "the  Count 
of  Crevecceur  must  lament  his  misfortune,  and 
entreat  your  forgiveness,  that  he  cannot,  on  this 
occasion,  reply  with  such  humble  deference  as  is 
due  to  the  royal  courtesy  with  which  your  ma- 
jesty has  honoured  him.  But  although  it  is  only 
the  voice  of  Philip  de  Crevecceur  de  Cordes 
which  speaks,  the  words  which  he  utters  must 
be  those  of  his  gracious  Lord  and  Sovereign  the 
Duke  of  Burgundy." 

'«  And  what  has  Crevecceur  to  say  in  the  words 
of  Burgundy  :"  said  Louis,  with  an  assumption 
of  sufficient  dignity.  "  Yet  hold — remember, 
that  in  this  presence,  Philip  Crevecceur  de  Cor- 
des speaks  to  him  whom  he  calls  his  Sovereign's 
Sovereign." 

Crevecceur  bowed,  and  then  spoke  aloud: — 

l<King  of  France,  the  mighty  duke  of  Bur- 
gundy once  more  sends  you  a  written  schedule  of 
the  wrongs  and  oppressions  committed  on  his 
frontiers  by  your  Majesty's  garrisons  and  officers: 


130  THE  ENVOY. 

and  the  first  point  of  inquiry  is,  whether  it  is 
your  Majesty's  purpose  to  make  him  amends  for 
these  injuries  ?" 

The  King,  looking  slightly  at  the  memorial 
which  the  herald  delivered  to  him  upon  his  knee, 
said,  "  these  matters  have  been  already  long  be- 
fore our  Council.  Of  the  injuries  complained  of, 
some  are  in  requital  of  those  sustained  by  my 
subjects,  some  are  affirmed  without  any  proof, 
some  have  been  retaliated  by  the  Duke's  garri- 
sons and  soldiers  ;  and  if  there  remain  any  which 
fall  under  none  of  those  predicaments,  we  are 
not  as  a  Christian  prince,  averse  to  make  satis- 
faction for  wrongs  actually  sustained  by  our 
neighbour,  though  committed  not  only  without 
our  countenance,  but  against  our  express  order.5' 

"  I  will  convey  your  Majesty's  answer,"  said 
the  ambassador,  "  to  my  most  gracious  master  ; 
yet,  let  me  say,  that  as  it  is  in  no  degree  differ- 
ent from  the  evasive  replies  which  have  already 
been  returned  to  his  just  complaints,  I  cannot 
hope  that  it  will  afford  the  means  of  re-establish- 
ing peace  and  Friendship  betwixt  France  and 
Burgundy." 

«4  Be  that  at  God's  pleasure,"  said  the  King. 
"It  is  not  for  dread  of  thy  Master's  arms,  but 
for  the  sake  of  peace  only  that  I  return  so  tem- 
perate an  answer  to  his  injurious  reproaches. 
Proceed  with  thine  errand." 

"  My  master's  next  demand,"  said  the  Am- 
bassador, "  is,  that  your  Majesty  will  cease  your 
secret  and  underhand  dealings  with  his  towns  of 
Ghent,  l.iege,  and  Malines.  He  requests  that 
your  Majesty  will  recall  the  secret  agents,  by 
whose  means  the  discontents  of  his  good  citizens 
of  Flanders  are  inflamed  ;  and  dismiss  from  your 
Majesty's  dominions,  or  rather  deliver  up  to  the 
condign  punishment  of  their  liege  lord,  those  trai- 


THE    ENVOY.  I31 

torous  fugitives,  who,  having  fled  from  the  scene 
of  their  machinations,  have  found  too  ready  a 
refuge  in  Paris,  Orleans,  Tours,  and  other  French 
cities." 

"  Say  to  the  Duke  of  Burgundy„,vreplied  the 
King,  "  that  I  know  of  no  such  indirect  practices 
as  those  with  which  he  injuriously  charges  me  ; 
that  my  subjects  of  France  have  frequent  inter- 
course with  the  good  cities  of  Flanders,  for  the 
purpose  of  mutual  benefit  by  free  traffic,  which 
it  would  be  as  much  contrary  to  the  Duke's  in- 
terest as  to  mine  to  interrupt ;  and  that  many 
Flemings  have  residence  in  my  kingdom,  and  en- 
joy the  protection  of  my  laws,  for  the  same  pur- 
pose ;  but  none,  to  our  knowledge,  for  those  of 
treason  or  mutiny  against  the  Duke.  Proceed 
with  your  message — you  have  heard  my  an- 
swer." 

"  As  formerly,  Sire,  with  pain,"  replied  the 
Count  of  Crevecceur  ;  *<  it  not  being  of  that  di- 
rect or  explicit  nature  which  the  Duke,  my  mas- 
ter, will  accept,  in  atonement  for  a  long  train  of 
secret  machinations,  not  the  less  certain,  though 
now  disavowed  by  your  Majesty.  But  I  proceed 
with  my  message.  The  Duke  of  Burgundy  fur- 
ther repuires  the  King  of  France  to  send  back  to 
his  dominions  without  delay,  and  under  a  secure 
safe-guard,  the  persons  of  Isabelle  Countess  of 
Croye,  and  of  her  relation  and  guardian  the 
Countess  Hameline,  of  the  same  family,  in  res- 
pect the  said  Countess  Isabelle,  being  by  the  law 
of  the  country,  and  the  feudal  tenure  of  her  es- 
tates, the  ward  of  the  said  Duke  of  Burgundy, 
hath  fled  from  his  dominions,  and  from  the  charge 
which  he,  as  a  careful  Prince,  was  willing  to  ex- 
tend over  her,  and  is  here  maintained  in  secret 
by  the  King  of  France,  and  by  him  fortified  in 


132  THE    ENVOY  - 

her  contumacy  to  the  Duke,  her  natural  lord  and 
guardian,  contrary  to  the  laws  of  God  and  man, 
as  they  ever  have  been  acknowledged  in  civilised 
Europe. — Once  more  I  pause  for  your  Majesty's 
repiv." 

"You  did  well,  Count  de  Crevecceur,"  said 
Louis,  scornfully,  "to  btgin  your  embassy  at  an 
early  hour  ;  for,  if  it  be  your  purpose  to  call  on 
me  to  account  for  the  flight  of  every  vassal  whom 
your  master's  heady  pasbion  may  have  driven 
from  his  dominions,  the  bead-roll  may  last  till 
sun-set.  Who  can  affirm  that  these  ladies  are 
in  my  dominions?  who  can  presume  to  sa\ ,  if 
it  be  so,  that  I  have  either  countenanced  their 
flight  hither,  or  have  received  them  with  offers 
of  protection  ?" 

u  Sire,"  said  Crevecceur,  «<  may  it  please  your 
Majesty,  I  was  provided  with  a  witness  on  this 
subject — one  who  beheld  these  fugitives  ladies 
in  the  inn  called  the  Fleur-de-Lys,  not  far  from 
this  Castle — one  who  saw  your  Majesty  in  their 
company,  though  under  the  unworthy  disguise 
of  a  Burgess  of  Tours — one  who  received  from 
them,  in  your  royal  presence,  messages  and  let- 
ters to  their  friends  in  Flanders — all  which  he 
conveyed  to  the  hand  and  ear  of  the  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy." 

"  Bring  him  forward,"  said  the  King  ;  "place 
the  man  before  my  face  who  dares  maintain  these 
palpable  falsehoods." 

'•  You  speak  in  triumph,  my  Lord  ;  for  you 
are  well  aware  that  this  witness  exists  no  longer. 
When  he  livtd,he  was  called  Zamet  Magraubin, 
by  birth  one  of  those  Bohemian  wanderers.  He 
was  yesterday,  as  I  have  learned,  executed  by  a 
party  of  your  Majesty's  Provost-Martial,  to  pre- 
vent, doubtless,  his  standing  here,  to  verify  what 


THE    ENVO'f.  133 

he  said  of  this  matter  to  the  Duke  of  Burgundy, 
in  presence  of  his  Council,  and  of  me,  Philip 
Crevecoeur  de  Cordes." 

"Now,  by  our  Lady  of  Embrun  !"  said  the 
King,  "  so  gross  are  these  accusations,  and  so  free 
of  consciousness  am  I  of  aught  that  approaches 
them,  that,  by  the  honour  of  a  King,  I  laugh, 
rather  than  am  wroth  at  them.  My  Provost- 
guard  put  to  death,  as  is  their  duty,  thieves  and 
vagabonds  ;  and  my  crown  is  to  be  slandered 
with  whatsoever  these  thieves  and  vagabonds 
may  have  said  to  our  hot  cousin  of  Burgundy  and 
his  wise  counsellors  !  I  pray  you  tell  my  kind 
cousin,  if  he  loves  such  companions,  he  had  best 
keep  them  in  his  own  estates  ;  for  here  they  are 
like  to  meet  short  shrift  and  a  tight  cord." 

ft  My  master  needs  no  such  subjects,  Sir 
King,"  answered  the  Count,  in  a  tone  more  dis- 
respectful than  he  had  yet  permitted  himself  to 
make  use  of;  "  for  the  noble  Duke  uses  not  to  in- 
quire of  witches,  wandering  Egyptians,  or  others 
upon  the  destiny  and  fate  of  his  neighbours  and 
allies." 

"  We  have  had  patience  enough  and  to  spare," 
said  the  King,  interrupting  him  ;  "and  since  thy 
sole  errand  here  seems  to  be  for  the  purpose  of 
insult,  we  will  send  some  one  in  our  name  to  the 
Duke  of  Burgundy — convinced,  in  thus  demean- 
ing thyself  towards  us,  thou  hast  exceeded  thy 
commission,  whatever  that  may  have  been." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Crevecoeur,  "  I  have 
not  yet  acquitted  myself  of  it.  Hearken,  Louis 
of  Valois,  King  of  France — Hearken,  nobles  and 
gentlemen,  who  may  be  present— Hearken  all 
good  and  true  men — And  thou,  Toison  d'Or," 
addressing  the  herald,  4<  make  proclamation  after 
me. — I,  Philip  Crevecoeur  of  Cordes,  Count  of 
the  Empire,  and  Knight  of  the  honourable  and 

Vol.  I 12 


134  THE  ENVOY. 

princely  Order  of  the  Golden  Fleece,  in  the  name 
of  the  most  puissant  Lord  and  Prince,  Charles 
by  the  Grace  of  God,  Duke  of  Burgundy  and 
Lothairingia,  of  Brabant  and  Limbourg,  of  Lux- 
embourg and  of  Gueldres  ;  Earl  of  Flanders  and 
of  Artois  ;  Count  Palatine  of  Hainault,  of  Hol- 
land, Zealand,  Namur,  and  Zutphen  :  Marquis 
of  the  Holy  Empire  ;  Lord  of  Friezeland,  Sa- 
lines, and  JV1  alines,  do  give  you,  Louis,  King  of 
France,  openly  to  know,  that  you  having  refused 
to  remedy  the  various  griefs,  wrongs,  and  offen- 
ces, done  and  wrought  by  you,  or  by  and  through 
your  aid,  suggestion  and  instigation,  against  the 
said  Duke  and  his  loving  subjects,  he,  by  my 
mouth  renounces  all  allegiance  and  fealty  towards 
your  crown  and  dignity — pronounces  you  false 
and  faithless  ;  and  defies  you  as  a  prince  and  as 
a  man.  There  lies  my  gage,  in  evidence  of  what 
I  have  said." 

So  saying,  he  plucked  the  gauntlet  off  his 
right  hand,  and  flung  it  down  on  the  floor  of  the 
hall. 

Until  this  last  climax  of  audacity,  there  had 
been  a  deep  silence  in  the  royal  apartment  during 
the  extraordinary  scene  ;  but  no  sooner  had  the 
clash  of  the  gauntlet,  when  cast  down,  been  echoed 
by  the  deep  voice  of  Toison  d'Or,  the  Burgun- 
dian  herald,  with  the  ejaculation,  «  Vive  Bour- 
gogne  !"  then  there  was  a  general  tumult.  While 
Dunois,  Orleans,  old  Lord  Crawford,  and  one 
or  two  others,  whose  rank  authorised  their  in- 
terference, contended  which  should  lift  up  the 
gauntlet,  the  others  in  the  hail  exclaimed,  "Strike 
him  down  !  Cut  him  to  pieces  !  Comes  he  here 
to  insult  the  King  of  France  in  his  own  palace!" 
But  the  King  appeased  the  tumult  by  ex- 
claiming, in  a  voice  like  thunder,  which  over- 
awed and  silenced  every  other  sound,  "  Silence, 


THE    ENVOY.  135 

my  lieges  !  lay  not  a  hand  on  the  man,  not  a 
finger  on  the  gage  ! — And  you,  Sir  Count,  of 
what  is  your  life  composed,  or  how  is  it  war- 
ranted, that  you  thus  place  it  on  the  cast  of  a 
die  so  perilous  ?  Or  is  vour  Duke  made  of  a 
different  metal  from  other  princes,  since  he  thus 
asserts  his  pretended  quarrel  in  a  manner  so  un- 
usual ?" 

«lHe  is  indeed  framed  of  a  different  and  more 
noble  metal  than  the  other  princes  of  Europe," 
said  the  undaunted  Count  of  Crevecoeur  ;  "  for, 
when  not  one  of  them  dared  to  give  shelter  to  you 
— to  you,  I  say,  King  Louis — when  you  were 
an  exile  from  France,  and  pursued  by  the  whole 
bitterness  of  your  father's  revenge,  and  all  the 
power  of  his  kingdom,  you  were  received  and 
protected  like  a  brother  by  my  noble  master, 
whose  generosity  cf  disposition  you  have  so 
grossly  misused.  Farewell,  Sire,  my  mission  is 
discharged." 

So  saying,  the  Count  de  Crevecoeur  left  the 
apartment  abruptly,  and  without  further  leave- 
taking. 

"  After  him — after  him — take  up  the  gaunt- 
let and  after  him  !"  said  the  King.  «' — I  fliean 
not  vou,  Dunois,  nor  you  my  Lord  of  Crawford, 
who,  methinks,  may  be  too  old  for  such  hot 
frays  ;  nor  you.  Cousin  of  Orleans,  who  are  too 
voung  for  them. — My  Lord  Cardinal — my  Lord 
Bishop  of  Auxerre — it  is  your  holy  office  to  make 
peace  among  princes  ;  do  you  lift  the  gauntlet, 
and  remonstrate  with  Count  Crevecoeur  on  the 
sin  he  has  committed,  in  thus  insulting  a  great 
Monarch  in  his  own  Court,  and  forcing  us  to 
bring  the  miseries  of  war  upon  his  kingdom  and 
that  of  his  neighbour.'' 

Upon  this  direct  personal  appeal,  the  Cardinal 
Balue  proceeded  to  lift  the  gauntlet,  with  such 


136  THE    ENVOY. 

precaution  as  one  would  touch  an  adder, — so 
great  was  apparently  his  aversion  to  this  symbol 
of  war, — and  presently  left  the  royal  apartment 
to  hasten  after  the  challenger. 

Louis  paused  and  looked  round  the  circle  of 
his  courtiers,  most  of  whom,  except  such  as  we 
have  already  distinguished,  being  men  of  low 
birth,  and  raised  to  their  rank  in  the  King's 
household  for  other  gifts  than  courage  or  feats 
of  arms,  looked  pale  on  each  other,  and  had  ob- 
viously received  an  unpleasant  impression  from 
the  scene  which  had  been  just  acted.  Louis  gaz- 
ed on  them  with  contempt,  and  then  said  aloud, 
if  Although  the  Count  of  Crevecoeur  be  pre- 
sumptuous and  overweening,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  in  him  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  hath  as 
bold  a  servant  as  ever  bore  message  for  a  prince. 
I  would  I  knew  where  to  find  as  faithful  an  En- 
voy to  carry  back  my  answer." 

"You  do  your  French  nobles  injustice,  Sire," 
said  Dunois ;  u  not  one  of  them  but  would  carry 
a  defiance  to  Burgundy  on  the  point  of  his 
sword." 

"And,  Sire,"  said  old  Crawford,  "you  wrong 
also  the  Scottish  gentlemen  who  serve  you.  I, 
or  any  of  my  followers,  being  of  meet  rank, 
would  not  hesitate  a  moment  to  call  yonder  proud 
Count  to  a  reckoning  ;  my  own  arm  is  yet  strong 
enough  for  the  purpose,  if  I  have  but  your  Ma- 
jesty's permission." 

"  But  your  Majesty,"  continued  Dunois,  "  will 
employ  us  in  no  service,  through  which  we  may 
win  honour  to  ourselves,  to  your  Majesty,  or  to 
France." 

"Say  rather,"  said  the  King,  "that  I  will  not 
give  way,  Dunois,  to  the  headlong  impetuosity, 
which,  on  some  knight-errant  punctilio,  would 
wreck  yourselves,  the  throne,  France,  and  all, 


THE    ENVOY.  137 

There  is  not  one  of  you  who  knows  not  how 
precious  every  hour  of  peace  is  at  this  moment, 
when  so  necessary  to  heal  the  wounds  of  a  dis- 
tracted country  :  yet  there  is  not  one  of  you  who 
would  not  rush  into  war  on  account  of  the  tale 
of  a  wandering  gipsey,  or  of  some  errant  demosel 
whose  reputation,  perhaps,  is  scarce  higher. — 
Here  comes  the  Cardinal,  and  we  trust  with 
more  pacific  tidings  : — How  now,  my  Lord — 
have  you  brought  the  Count  to  reason  and  to 
temper?" 

"Sire"  said  Balue,  "my  task  hath  been  dif- 
ficult. I  put  it  to  yonder  proud  Count,  how  he 
dared  to  use  towards  your  Majesty,  the  presump- 
tuous reproach  with  which  his  audience  had  bro- 
ken up,  and  which  must  be  understood  as  pro- 
ceeding, not  from  his  master,  but  from  his  own 
insolence,  and  as  placing  hkn  therefore  in  your 
Majesty's  discretion,  for  what  penalty  you  might 
think  proper." 

'« You  said  right,"  replied  the  King;  "and 
what  was  his  answer  ?" 

"The  Count"  continued  the  Cardinal,  "had 
at  that  moment  his  foot  in  the  stirrup,  ready  to 
mount ;  and  on  hearing  my  expostulation,  he 
turned  his  head  without  altering  his  position. 
'Had  I,'  said  he  '  been  fifty  leagues  distant,  and 
had  heard  by  report  that  a  question  vitupera- 
tive of  my  Prince  had  been  asked  by  the  King 
of  France,  I  had,  even  at  that  distance,  instantly 
mounted,  and  returned  to  disburthen  my  mind 
of  the  answer  which  I  gave  him  but  now/5' 

11  I  said,  sirs,"  said  the  King,  turning  around, 
without  any  shew  of  angry  emotion,  '«  that  in  the 
Count  Philip  of  Crevecceur,  our  cousin  the  Duke 
possesses  as  worthy  a  servant  as  ever  rode  at  a 
prince's  right  hand. — But  you  prevailed  with  him 
to  stay  ?" 

12f 


138  THE    ENVOY. 

"  To  stay  for  twenty-four  hours  ;  and  in  the 
meanwhile  to  receive  again  his  gage  of  defiance,' 
said  the  Cardinal :  "  he  has  dismounted  at  the 
Fleur-de-Lys." 

'*  See  that  he  be  nobly  attended  and  cared  for, 
at  our  charges,"  said  the  King ;  "  such  a  ser- 
vant is  a  jewel  in  a  prince's  crown. — Twenty- 
four  hours  ?"  he  added,  muttering  to  himself,  and 
looking  as  if  he  were  stretching  his  eyes  to  see 
into  futurity  ;  "  twenty-four  hours  ?  'tis  of  the 
shortest.  Yet  twenty-four  hours,  ably  and  skil- 
fully employed,  may  be  worth  a  year  in  the  hand 
of  indolent  or  incapable  agents. — Well. — To  the 
forest — to  the  forest,  my  gallant  lords  ! — Orleans, 
my  fair  kinsman,  lay  aside  that  modesty,  though 
it  becomes  you  ;  mind  not  my  Joans's  coyness. 
The  Loire  may  as  soon  avoid  mingling  with  the 
Cher,  as  she  from  favouring  your  suit,  or  you 
from  preferring  it,"  he  added,  as  the  unhappy 
prince  moved  slowly  on  after  his  betrothed  bride. 
"  And  now  for  your  boar  spears,  gentlemen  : 
for  Allegre,  my  pricker,  hath  harboured  one  that 
will  try  both  dog  and  man.— Dunois,  lend  me 
your  spear, — take  mine,  it  is  too  weighty  for  me; 
but  when  did  you  complain  of  such  a  fault  in 
your  lance  ? — To  horse — to  horse  gentlemen." 
And  all  the  chase  rode  on. 


THE    BOAR-HUNT.  139 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE  BOAR-HUNT. 


I  will  converse  with  unre9pective  boys 
And  iron-witted  fools.     None  are  for  me 
That  look  into  me  with  suspicious  eves. 

King  Richard. 

All  the  experience  which  the  Cardinal  had 
been  able  to  collect  of  his  master's  disposition, 
did  not,  upon  the  present  occasion,  prevent  his 
falling  into  a  great  error  of  policy.  His  vanity  in- 
duced him  to  think  that  he  had  been  more  success- 
ful in  prevailing  upon  the  Count  of  Crevecoeur 
to  remain  at  Tours,  than  any  other  moderator 
whom  the  King  might  have  employed,  would,  in 
all  probability,  have  been.  And  as  he  was  well 
aware  of  the  importance  which  Louis  attached 
to  the  postponement  of  a  war  with  the  Duke  of 
Burgundy,  he  could  not  help  shewing  that  he 
conceived  himself  to  have  rendered  the  King 
great  and  acceptable  service.  He  pressed  nearer 
to  the  King's  person  than  he  was  wont  to  do,  and 
endeavoured  to  engage  him  in  conversation  on 
the  events  of  the  morning. 

This  was  injudicious  in  more  respects  than 
one,  for  princes  love  not  to  see  their  subjects  ap- 
proach them  with  an  air  conscious  of  deserving, 
and  thereby  seeming  desirous  to  extort  acknow- 
ledgment and  recompense  of  their  services  ;  and 
Louis,  the  most  jealous  monarch  that  ever  lived, 
was  peculiarly  averse  and  inaccessible  to  any  one 


140  THE   BOAR-HUNT. 

who  seemed  either  to  presume  upon  service  ren- 
dered, or  to  pry  into  his  secrets. 

Yet,  hurried  away,  as  the  most  cautious  some- 
times are,  by  the  self-satisfied  humour  of  the 
moment,  the  Cardinal  continued  to  ride  on  the 
King's  right  hand,  turning  the  discourse,  when- 
ever it  was  possible,  upon  Crevecceur  and  his 
embassy;  which,  although  it  might  be  the  matter 
at  that  moment  most  in  the  King's  thoughts,  was 
nevertheless  precisely  that  which  he  was  least 
willing  to  converse  on.  At  length  Louis,  who 
had  listened  to  him  with  attention,  yet  without 
having  returned  any  answer  which  could  tend  to 
prolong  the  conversation,  signed  to  Dunois,  who 
rode  at  no  great  distance,  to  come  up  on  the 
other  side  of  his  horse. 

"  We  came  hither  for  sport  and  exercise," 
said  he,  "but  the  reverend  father  here  would 
have  us  hold  a  council  of  state." 

<«  I  hope  your  Highness  will  excuse  my  assist- 
ance," said  unois  ;  "  I  am  born  to  fight  the  bat- 
tles of  France,  and  have  heart  and  hand  for  that, 
but  I  have  no  head  for  her  councils." 

"  My  Lord  Cardinal  hath  a  head  turned  for 
nothing  else,  Dunois  ;  he  hath  confessed  Creve- 
cceur at  the  Castle-gate,  and  he  hath  communi- 
cated to  us  his  whole  shrift — Said  you  not  the 
iv/iote?"  he  continued,  with  an  emphasis  on  the 
word,  and  a  glance  at  the  Cardinal,  which  shot 
from  betwixt  his  long  dark  eye-lashes,  as  a  dag- 
ger gleams  when  it  leaves  the  scabbard. 

The  Cardinal  trembled,  as,  endeavouring  to 
reply  to  the  King's  jest,  he  said,  «■  That  though 
his  order  was  obliged  to  conceal  the  secrets  of 
their  penitents  in  general,  there  was  no  sigillum 
confessionis,  which  could  not  be  melted  at  his 
Majesty's  breath." 

4<  And  as  his  Eminence,"  said  the  King,  "  is 


THE    BOAR-HUNT.  141 

ready  to  communicate  the  secrets  of  others  to  us, 
he  naturally  expects  that  we  should  be  equally 
communicative  to  him  ;  and,  in  order  to  get 
upon  this  reciprocal  footing,  he  is  very  reason- 
ably desirous  to  know  if  these  two  ladies  of  Croye 
be  actually  in  our  territories.  We  are  sorry  we 
cannot  indulge  his  curiosity,  not  ourselves  know- 
ing in  what  precise  place  errant  damsels,  dis- 
guised princesses,  distressed  countesses,  may  lie 
leaguer  within  our  dominions,  which  are,  we 
thank  God  and  our  Lady  of  Embrun,  rather  too 
extensive  for  us  to  answer  easily  his  Eminence's 
most  reasonable  enquiries. — But  supposing  they 
were  with  us,  what  say  you,  Dunois,  to  our  cou- 
sin's peremptory  demand  ?" 

M  I  will  answer  you,  my  Lord,  if  you  will  tell 
me  in  sincerity,  whether  you  want  war  or  peace," 
replied  Dunois,  with  a  frankness  which,  while  it 
arose  out  of  his  own  native  openness  and  intre- 
pidity of  character  made  him  from  time  to  time 
a  considerable  favourite  with  Louis,  who,  like  all 
astucious  persons,  was  as  desirous  of  looking  into 
the  hearts  of  others  as  of  concealing  his  own. 

u  By  my  halidome,"  said  he,  "  I  should  be  as 
well  contented  as  thyself,  Dunois,  to  tell  thee  my 
purpose,  did  I  myself  but  know  it  exactly.  But 
say  I  declared  for  war,  what  should  I  do  with 
this  beautiful  and  wealthy  young  heiress,  suppos- 
ing her  to  be  in  my  dominions  ?" 

l<  Bestow  her  in  marriage  on  one  of  your  own 
gallant  followers,  who  has  a  heart  to  love  and  an 
arm  to  protect  her,"  said  Dunois. 

"  Upon  thyself,  ha  !"  said  the  King.  "Pasques- 
dieu!  thou  art  more  politic  than  I  took  thee  for, 
with  all  thy  bluntness." 

"  Nay,  Sire,  I  am  aught  except  politic.  By 
our  Lady  of  Orleans,  I  come  to  the  point  at  once, 
as  I  ride  my  horse  at  the  ring.     Your  Majestv 


142  THE    BOAR-HUNT. 

owes   the   house  of  Orleans  at  least  one  happy 
marriage." 

'<  And  I  will  pay  it,  Count.  Posques-dieu,  I 
will  pay  it  \ — See  you  not  yonder  fair  couple  ?" 

The  King  pointed  to  the  unhappy  Duke  of 
Orleans  and  the  Princess,  who,  neither  during  to 
remain  at  a  greater  distance  from  the  King,  nor 
in  his  sight  appear  separate  from  each  other, 
were  riding  side  by  side,  yet  with  an  interval  of 
two  or  three  yards  betwixt  them,  a  space  which 
timidity  on  the  one  side,  and  aversion  on  the 
other,  prevented  them  from  diminishing,  while 
neither  dared   to  increase   it. 

Dunois  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  King's 
signal,  and  as  the  situation  of  his  unfortunate  re- 
lative and  the  destined  bride  reminded  him  of 
nothing  so  much  as  of  two  dogs,  which,  forcibly 
linked  together,  remain  nevertheless  as  widely 
separated  as  the  length  of  their  collars  will  permit, 
he  could  not  help  shaking  his  head,  though  he 
ventured  not  on  any  other  reply  to  the  hypocriti- 
cal tyrant.     Louis  seemed  to  guess  his  thoughts. 

"  It  will  be  a  peaceful  and  quiet  household 
they  will  keep — not  much  disturbed  with  children, 
I  should  augur.  But  these  are  not  always  a 
blessing." 

It  was,  perhaps,  the  recollection  of  his  own 
filial  ingratitude  that  made  the  King  pause  as 
he  made  the  last  reflection,  and  which  converted 
the  sneer  which  trt-mbled  on  his  lip  into  some- 
thing resembling  an  expression  of  contrition. 
But  he  instantly  proceeded  in  another  tone. 

"  Frankly,  my  Dunois,  much  as  I  revere  the 
holy  sacrament  of  matrimony,  (here  he  crossed 
himself,)  I  would  rather  the  house  of  Orleans 
raised  for  me  such  gallant  soldiers  as  thy  father 
and  thyself,  who  share  the  blood-royal  of  France 
without  claiming  its  rights,  than  that  the  country 


THE    BOAR- HUNT.  143 

should  be  rent  to  pieces,  as  England,  by  wars 
by  the  rivalry  of  legitimate  candidates  for  the 
crown.  The  lion  should  never  have  more  than 
one  cub." 

Dunois  sighed  and  was  silent,  conscious  that 
contradicting  his  arbitrary  sovereign  might  well 
hurt  his  kinsman's  interests,  but  could  do  him 
no  service  ;  yet  he  could  not  forbear  adding,  in 
the  next  moment, 

u Since  your  Majesty  has  alluded  to  the  birth 
of  my  father,  I  must  needs  own,  that,  setting  the 
frailty  of  his  parents  on  one  side,  he  might  be 
termed  happier,  and  more  fortunate,  as  the  son 
of  lawless  love,  than   of  conjugal  hatred." 

"  Thou  art  a  scandalous  fellow,  Dunois,  to 
speak  thus  of  holy  wedlock.  But  to  the  devil 
with  the  discourse,  for  the  boar  is  unharboured. 
—Lay  on  the  dogs,  in  the  name  of  the  holy  Saint 
Hubert! -Ha!  ha!  tra-la-la-lira-la  !"_  And  the 
King's  horn  rung  merrily  through  the  woods  as 
he  pushed  forward  on  the  chase,  followed  by 
two  or  three  of  his  guards,  amongst  whom  was 
our  friend  Quentin  Durward.  And  here  it  was 
remarkable  that,  even  in  the  keen  prosecution  of 
his  favourite  sport,  the  King,  in  indulgence  of 
his  caustic  disposition,  found  leisure  to  amuse 
himself  by  tormenting  Cardinal  Balue. 

It  was  one  of  that  able  statesman's  weaknesses, 
as  we  have  elsewhere  hinted,  to  suppose  himself 
though  of  low  rank  and  limited  education,  quali- 
fied to  play  the  courtier  and  the  man  of  gallantry. 
He  cTd  not,  indeed,  actuailv  enter  the  lists  like 
Becket,  or  levy  soldiers  like  Wolsev.  But  gal- 
lantry, in  which  they  also  were  proficients,  was 
his  professed  pursuit  ;  and  he  likewise  affected 
great  fondness  for  the  martial  amusement  of  the 
chase.  But,  however  well  he  might  succeed 
with    certain    ladies,   to   whom    his    power,   his 


144  THE    BOAR-HUNT. 

wealth,  and  his  influence  as  a  statesman,  might 
atone  for  deficiencies  in  appearance  and  manners, 
the  gallant  horses,  which  he  purchased  at  almost 
any  price,  were  totally  insensible  to  the  dignity 
of  carrying  a  cardinal,  and  paid  no  more  respect 
to  him  than  they  would  have  done  to  his  father 
the  tailor,  whom  he  rivalled  in  horsemanship. 
The  King  knew  this,  and,  by  alternately  exciting 
and  checking  his  own  horse,  he  brought  that  of 
the  Cardinal,  whom  he  kept  close  by  his  side, 
into  such  a  state  of  mutinv  against  his  rider, 
that  it  became  apparent  they  must  soon  part  com- 
pany ;  and  then,  in  the  midst  of  its  starting,  bolt- 
ing, rearing,  and  lashing  out,  alternately,  the 
royal  tormentor  rendered  the  rider  miserable,  by 
questioning  him  upon  many  affairs  of  importance, 
and  hinting  his  purpose  to  take  that  opportunity 
of  communicating  to  him  some  of  those  secrets 
of  state,  which  the  Cardinal  had  but  a  little  while 
before  seemed  so  anxious  to  learn. 

A  more  awkward  situation  could  hardly  be 
imagined,  than  that  of  a  privy-councillor  forced 
to  listen  to  and  reply  to  his  Sovereign,  while 
each  fresh  gambade  of  his  unmanageable  horse 
placed  him  in  a  new  and  more  precarious  atti- 
tude— his  violet  robe  flying  loose  in  every  direc- 
tion, and  nothing  securing  him  from  an  instant 
and  perilous  fall,  save  the  depth  of  the  saddle, 
and  its  height  before  and  behind.  Dunois  laugh- 
ed without  restraint;  while  the  King,  who  had 
a  private  mode  of  enjoying  his  jest  inwardly, 
without  laughing  aloud,  mildly  rebuked  his  mi- 
mister  on  his  eager  passion  for  the  chase,  which 
would  not  permit  him  to  dedicate  a  few  moments 
to  business.  <l  I  will  no  longer  be  your  hin- 
derance,*'  continued  he,  addressing  the  terrified 
Cardinal,  and  giving  his  own  horse  the  rein  at 
the  same  time. 


THL    BOAR-HUNT.  143 

Before  Balue  could  utter  a  word  by  way  of 
answer  or  apology,  his  horse,  seizing  the  bit  with 
his  teeth,  went  forth  at  an  uncontroulable  gallop, 
soon  leaving  behind  the  King  and  Dunois,  who 
followed  at  a  more  regulated  pace,  enjoying  the 
statesman's  distressed  predicament.  If  any  of 
our  readers  has  chanced  to  be  run  away  with  in 
his  time,  (as  we  ourselves  have  in  ours,)  he  will 
have  a  full  sense  at  once  of  the  pain,  peril,  and 
absurdity  of  the  situation.  These  four  legs  of 
the  quadruped,  which  no  way  under  the  rider's 
controul,  nor  sometimes  under  that  of  the  crea- 
ture they  more  properly  belong  to,  fly  at  such  a 
rate  as  if  the  hindermost  meant  to  overtake  the 
foremost — those  clinging  legs  of  the  biped  which 
we  so  often  wish  safely  planted  on  the  green 
sward,  but  which  now  only  augment  our  distress 
by  pressing  the  animal's  sides — the  hands  which 
have  forsaken  the  bridle  for  the  mane — the  body 
which,  instead  of  sitting  upright  on  the  centre  of 
gravity,  as  old  Angelo  used  to  recommend,  or 
stooping  forward  like  a  jockey  at  Newmarket, 
lies,  rather  than  hangs,  crouched  upon  the  back 
of  the  animal,  with  no  better  chance  of  saving 
itself  than  a  sack  of  corn, — combine  to  make  a 
picture  more  than  sufficiently  ludicrous  to  specta- 
tors, however  uncomfortable  to  the  exhibiter. 
But  add  to  this  some  singularity  of  dress  or  ap- 
pearance on  the  part  of  the  unhappy  cavalier — a 
robe  of  office,  a  splendid  uniform,  or  any  other 
peculiarity  of  costume, — and  let  the  scene  of  ac- 
tion be  a  race-course,  a  review,  a  procession,  or 
any  other  place  of  concourse  and  public  display, 
and  if  the  poor  wight  would  escape  being  the  ob- 
ject of  a  shout  of  inextinguishable  laughter,  he 
must  contrive  to  break  a  limb  or  two,  or,  which 
will  be  more  effectual,  to  be  killed  on  the  spot;  for 
on  no  slighter  condition  will  his  fall  excite   anv 

Vol.  I.— 13 


146  THE    BOAR-HUNT. 

thing  like  serious  sympathy.  On  the  present  oc 
casion,  the  short  violet-coloured  gown  of  the 
Cardinal,  which  he  used  as  a  riding  dress,  (hav- 
ing changed  his  long  robes  before  he  left  the 
Castle,)  his  scarlet  stockings,  and  scarlet  hat, 
with  the  long  strings  hanging  down,  together 
with  his  utter  helplessness,  gave  infinite  zest  to 
his  exhibition  of  horsemanship. 

The  horse,  having  taken  matters  entirely  into 
his  own  hand,  flew  rather  than  galloped  up  a  long 
green  avenue,  overtook  the  pack  in  hard  pursuit 
of  the  boar,  and  then,  having  overturned  one  or 
two  yeomen  prickers,  who  little  expected  to  be 
charged  in  the  rear, — having  ridden  down  seve- 
ral dogs,  and  greatly  confused  the  chase, — ani- 
mated by  the  clamours  and  threats  of  the  hunts- 
man, carried  the  terrified  Cardinal  *  ast  the  for- 
midable animal  itself,  which  was  n  shing  on  at 
a  speedy  trot,  furious  and  embossed  with  the 
foam  which  he  churned  around  his  tusks.  Ba- 
lue,  on  beholding  himself  so  near  the  boar,  set 
up  a  dreadful  cry  for  help,  which,  or  perhaps 
the  sight  of  the  boar,  produced  such  an  effect  on 
his  horse,  that  the  animal  interrupted  its  head- 
long career  by  suddenly  springing  to  one  side  ; 
so  that  the  Cardinal,  who  had  long  only  kept  his 
seat  because  the  motion  was  straight  forward, 
now  fell  heavily  to  the  ground.  The  conclusion - 
of  Baiue's  chase  took  place  so  near  the  boar, 
that,  had  not  the  animal  been  at  that  moment  , 
too  much  engaged  about  his  own  affairs,  the  vici- 
nity might  have  proved  as  fatal  to  the  Cardinal, 
as  it  is  said  to  have  done  to  Favila,  King  of  the 
Visigoths,  in  Spain.  He  got  off,  however,  for 
the  fright,  and  crawling  as  hastily  as  he  could 
out  of  the  way  of  hounds  and  huntsmen,  saw  the 
whole  chase  sweep  by  him  without  affording  him 
assistance  j  for  hunters  in  those  days  were  as  lit- 


THE  BOAR-HUNT.  14,7 

tie  moved  by  sympathy  for  such  misfortunes  as 
they  are  in  our  own. 

The  King,  as  he  passed,  said  to  Dunois, 
<l  Yonder  lies  his  Eminence  low  enough— -he  is 
no  great  huntsman,  though  for  a  fisher  (when  a 
secret  is  to  be  caught,)  he  may  match  Saint 
Peter  himself.  He  has,  however,  for  once,  I 
think,  met  with  his  match." 

The  Cardinal  did  not  hear  the  words,  but  the 
scornful  look  with  which  they  were  spoken  led 
him  to  suspect  their  general  import.  The  devil 
is  said  to  seize  such  opportunities  of  temptation 
as  was  now  afforded  by  the  passions  of  Balue, 
bitterly  moved  as  they  had  been  by  the  scorn  of 
the  King.  The  momentary  fright  was  over  so 
soon  as  he  had  assured  himself  that  his  fall  was 
harmless  ;  but  mortified  vanity,  and  resentment 
against  his  Sovereign,  had  a  much  longer  influ- 
ence on  his  feelings. 

After  all  the  chase  had  passed  him,  a  single 
cavalier,  who  seemed  rather  to  be  a  spectator 
than  a  partaker  of  the  sport,  rode  up  with  one 
or  two  attendants,  and  expressed  no  small  'sur- 
prise to  find  the  Cardinal  there  upon  foot,  with- 
out a  horse  or  attendants,  and  in  such  a  plight 
as  plainly  shewed  the  nature  of  the  accident 
which  had  there  placed  him.  To  dismount,  and 
offer  his  assistance  in  this  predicament, — to  cause 
one  of  his  attendants  resign  a  staid  and  quiet 
palfrey  for  the  Cardinal's  use — to  express  his  sur- 
prise at  the  customs  of  the  French  Court,  which 
thus  permitted  them  to  abandon  to  the  dangers 
of  the  chase,  and  forsake  in  his  need,  their  wisest 
statesman,  were  the  natural  modes  of  assistance 
and  consolation  which  so  strange  a  rencontre 
supplied  to  Crevecceur  ;  for  it  was  the  Burgun- 
dian  ambassador  who  came  to  the  assistance  of 
the  fallen  Cardinal. 


148  THE  BOAR-HUNT. 

He  found  him  in  a  lucky  time  and  humour  for 
essaying  some  of  those  practices  on  his  fidelity, 
to  which  it  is  well  known  that  Balue  had  the 
criminal  weaknebs  to  listen.  Already  in  the 
morning,  as  the  jealous  temper  of  Louis  had 
suggested,  more  had  passed  betwixt  them  than 
the  Cardinal  durst  have  reported  to  his  master. 
But  although  he  had  listened  with  gratified  ears 
to  the  high  value,  which,  he  was  assured  by  Cre- 
vecceur,  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  placed  upon  his 
person  and  talents,  and  noc  without  a  feeling  of 
temptation,  when  the  Count  hinted  at  the  muni- 
ficence of  his  master's  disposition,  and  the  rich 
benefices  of  Flanders,  it  was  not  until  the  ac- 
cident, as  we  have  related,  had  highly  irritated 
him,  that,  stung  with  wounded  vanity,  he  re- 
solved in  a  fatal  hour,  to  shew,  that  no  enemy 
can  be  so  dangerous  as  an  offended  friend  and 
confidant. 

On  the  present  occasion,  he  hastily  requested 
Crevecceur  to  separate  from  him,  lest  they  should 
be  observed,  but  appointed  him  a  meeting  for 
the  evening  in  the  Abbey  of  Saint  Martin's  at 
Tours,  after  vesper  service  ;  and  that  in  a  tone 
which  assured  the  Burgundian  that  his  master 
had  obtained  an  advantage  hardly  to  have  been 
hoped  for. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Louis,  who  though  the  most 
politic  Prince  of  his  time,  upon  this,  as  on  other 
occasions,  suffered  his  passions  to  interfere  with 
his  art,  followed  contentedly  the  chase  of  the 
wild  boar,  which  was  now  come  to  an  interest- 
ing  point.  It  had  so  happened  that  a  sounder 
(i.  e.  in  the  language  of  the  period,  a  boar  of  only 
two  years  old)  had  crossed  the  track  of  the  pro- 
per object  of  the  chase,  and  withdrawn  in  pur- 
suit of  him  all  the  dogs,  (saving  two  or  three 
couple  of  old  staunch  hounds,)  and  the  greater 


THE    BOAR-HUNT.  149 

part  of  the  huntsmen.  The  King  saw,  with  in- 
ternal glee,  Dunois  as  well  as  others,  follow 
upon  this  false  scent,  and  enjoyed  in  secret  the 
thought  of  triumphing  over  that  accomplished 
knight,  in  the  art  of  venerie,  which  was  then 
thought  almost  as  glorious  as  war.  Louis  was 
well  mounted,  and  followed  close  on  the  hounds; 
so  that,  when  the  boar  turned  to  bay  in  a  mar- 
shy piece  of  ground,  there  was  no  one  near  him 
but  the  King  himself. 

Louis  shewed  all  the  bravery  and  expertness 
of  an  experienced  huntsman  ;  for,  unheeding  the 
danger,   he  rode  up  to  the  tremendous   animal, 
which  was  defending  itself  with  fury  against  the 
dogs,  and  struck  him  with  his  boar-spear;  yet 
as  the  horse  shyed  from  the  boar,  the  blow  was 
not  so  effectual  as  either  to  kill  or  disable  him. 
No  effort  could  prevail  on  the  horse  to  charge  a 
second  time  ;  so  that  the  King,  dismounting,  ad- 
vanced on  foot  against  the  furious  animal,  hold- 
ing naked  in  his  hand  one  of  those  short,  sharp, 
straight,   and  pointed  swords,  which  huntsmen 
used  for   such  encounters.     The  boar  instantly 
quitted  the  dogs  to  rush  on  his  human  enemy, 
while  the  King,   taking  his  station,  and  posting 
himself  firmly,  presented  the  sword,  with  the  pur- 
pose of  aiming  it  at  the  boar's  throat,  or  rather 
chest,  within  the  collar-bone  ;  in  which  case,  the 
weight  of  the  beast,   and  the  impetuosity  of  his 
career,  would  have  served  to  accelerate  his  own 
destruction.      But,  owing  to  the   wetness  of  the 
ground,  the  King's  foot  slipped,  just  as  this  de- 
licate and  perilous  manoeuvre  ought  to  have  been 
accomplished,   and   the  point  of  the  sword   en- 
countering the  cuirass  of  bristles  on  the  outside 
of  the  creature's  shoulders,  glanced  off  without 
making  any  impression,  and  Louis  fell  flat  on  the 

13f 


150  THE  BOAR-HUNT. 

ground.  This  was  so  far  fortunate  for  the  Mo- 
narch, because  the  animal  owing  to  the  King's 
fall,  missed  his  blow  in  his  turn,  and  only  rent 
with  his  tusk  the  King's  short  hunting-cloak,  in- 
stead of  ripping  up  his  thigh.  But  as,  after 
running  a  little  a-head  in  the  fury  of  his  course, 
the  boar  turned  to  repeat  his  attack  on  the 
King  in  the  moment  when  he  was  rising,  the 
life  of  Louis  was  in  imminent  danger,  when 
Quentin  Durward,  who  had  been  thrown  out  in 
the  chase  by  the  slowness  of  his  horse,  but,  who 
nevertheless,  had  luckily  distinguished  and  fol- 
lowed the  blast  of  the  King's  horn,  rode  up,  and 
transfixed  the  animal  with  his  spear. 

The  King,  who  had  by  this  time  recovered 
his  feet,  came  in  turn  to  Durward's  assistance, 
and  cut  the  animal's  throat  with  his  sword.  Be- 
fore speaking  a  word  to  Quentin,  he  measured 
the  huge  creature  not  only  by  paces,  but  even  by 
feet — then  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  brow,  and 
the  blood  from  his  hands — then  took  off  his 
hunting  cap,  hung  it  on  a  bush,  and  devoutly 
made  his  orisons  to  the  little  leaden  images  which 
it  contained — and  then  looking  upon  Durward, 
said  to  him,  "  Is  it  thou,  my  young  Scot? — thou 
hast  begun  thy  woodcraft  well,  and  Maitre 
Pierre  owes  thee  as  good  entertainment  as  he  gave 
thee  at  the  Fleur-de-Lys  yonder.- — Why  dost 
thou  not  speak  ;  Thou  hast  lost  thy  forwardness 
and  fire,  methinks,  at  the  Court,  where  others 
find  both." 

Quentin,  as  shrewd  a  youth  as  ever  Scottish 
breeze  breathed  caution  into,  was  far  too  wise  to 
embrace  the  perilous  permission  of  familiarity 
which  he  seemed  thus  invited  to  use.  He  an- 
swered in  very  few  and  well-chosen  words,  that 
if  he  ventured  to  address  his  majesty  at  all,  it 


THE    BOAR-HITNT.  151 

could  be  but  to  crave  pardon  for  the  rustic  bold- 
ness with  which  he  had  conducted  himself  when 
ignorant  of  his  high  rank. 

"  Tush  !  man,"  said  the  King  ;  «  I  forgive  thy 
sauciness  for  thy  spirit  and  shrewdness.  I  ad- 
mired how  near  thou  didst  hit  upon  my  gossip 
Tristan's  occupation.  You  have  nearly  tasted  of 
his  handy-work  since,  as  I  am  given  to  under- 
stand. I  bid  thee  beware  of  him  ;  he  is  a  mer- 
chant who  deals  in  rough  bracelets  and  tight 
necklaces.  Help  me  to  my  horse — I  love  thee, 
and  will  do  thee  good.  Build  on  no  man's  fa- 
vour but  mine — not  even  on  thine  uncle's  or  Lord 
Crawford's— *and  say  nothing  of  thy  timely  aid 
in  this  matter  of  the  boar  ;  for  if  a  man  makes 
boast  that  he  has  served  a  King  in  such  a  pinch, 
he  must  take  the  braggart  humour  for  its  own 
recompense." 

The  King  then  winded  his  horn,  which  brought 
up  Dunois  and  several  attendants,  whose  compli- 
ments he  received  on  the  slaughter  of  such  a  no- 
ble animal,  without  scrupling  to  appropriate  a 
much  greater  share  of  merit  than  actually  be- 
longed to  him  ;  for  he  mentioned  Durward's  as- 
sistance as  slightly  as  a  sportsman,  who,  in  boast- 
ing of  the  number  of  birds  which  he  has  bagged, 
does  not  always  dilate  upon  the  presence  and 
assistance  of  the  game  keeper.  He  then  ordered 
Dunois  to  see  that  the  boar's  carcase  was  sent  to 
the  brotherhood  of  Saint  Martin,  at  Tours,  to 
mend  their  fare  upon  holidays,  and  that  they 
might  remember  the  King  in  their  private  de- 
votions. 

«  And,"  said  Louis,  "  who  hath  seen  his  Emi- 
nence my  Lord  Cardinal?  Methinks  it  were  but 
poor  courtesy,  and  cold  regard  to  Holy  Church, 
to  leave  him  afoot  here  in  the  forest." 

"  May  it  please  you,  sire,"  said  Quentin,  when 


152  THE  BOAR-HUNT. 

he  saw  that  all  were  silent,  "  I  saw  his  Lordship 
the  Cardinal  accommodated  with  a  horse,  on 
which  he  left  the  forest." 

"  Heaven  cares  for  its  own,"  replied  the  King. 
"  Set  forward,  my  lords  ;  we'll  hunt  no  more  this 
morning. — You,  Sir  Squire,"  addressing  Quen- 
tin,  "  reach  me  my  wood-knife — it  has  dropped 
from  the  sheath  beside  the  quarry  there.  Ride 
in,  Dunois — I  follow  instantly." 

Louis,  whose  lightest  motions  were  often  con- 
ducted like  stratagems,  thus  gained  an  opportu- 
nity to  ask  Quentin  privately,  <l  My  bonny  Scot, 
thou  hast  an  eye,  I  see — Can'st  thou  tell  me  who 
helped  the  Cardinal  to  a  palfrey? — Some  stranger 
I  should  suppose;  for  as  /passed  without  stop- 
ping, the  courtiers  would  likely  be  loath  to  do 
him  such  a  turn." 

'«  I  saw  those  who  aided  his  Eminence  but  an 
instant,  sire,"  said  Quentin  ;  "  for  I  had  been 
unluckily  thrown  out,  and  was  riding  fast,  to  be 
in  my  place  ;  but  I  think  it  was  the  ambassador 
of  Burgundy  and  his  people" 

"  Ha!"  said  Louis—"  Well,  be  it  so— France 
will  match  them  yet." 

There  was  nothing  more  remarkable  happened, 
and  the  King  and  his  retinue  returned  to  the 
Castle. 


THE    SENTINEL.  153 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE  SENTINEL. 

Where  should  this  music  be  ;  i'  the  air,  or  the  earth  ? 

The  Tempest, 

——I  was  all  ear, 
And  took  in  strains  that  might  create  a  soul 
Under  the  ribs  of  death. 

Comus. 

Quentin  had  hardly  reached  his  little  cabin, 
in  order  to  make  some  necessary  changes  in  his 
dress,  when  his  worthy  relative  required  to  know 
from  him  the  full  particulars  which  had  befallen 
him  at  the  hunt. 

The  youth,  who  could  not  help  thinking  that 
his  uncle's  hand  was  probably  more  powerful  than 
his  understanding,  took  care,  in  his  reply,  to  leave 
the  King  in  full  possession  of  the  victory  which 
he  had  seemed  desirous  to  appropriate.  The  Ba- 
lafre's  reply  was  an  account  of  how  much  better 
he  himself  would  have  behaved  in  the  like  cir- 
cumstances, and  it  was  mixed  with  a  gentle  cen- 
sure of  his  nephew's  slackness,  in  not  making  in 
to  the  King's  assistance,  when  he  might  be  in  im- 
minent peril.  The  youth  had  prudence,  in  an- 
swer, to  abstain  from  all  further  vindication  of 
his  own  conduct,  excepting,  that,  according  to  the 
rules  of  woodcraft,  he  held  it  ungentle  to  inter- 
fere with  the  game  attacked  by  another  hunter, 
unless  he  was  specially  called  upon  for  his  assis- 
tance. This  discussion  was  scarce  ended,  when 
occasion  was  afforded  Quentin  to  congratulate 
himself  for  observing  some  reserve  towards  his 


154  THE  SENTINEL. 

kinsman.  A  low  tap  at  the  door  announced  a 
visitor — it  was  presently  opened,  and  Oliver 
Dain,  or  Mauvais,  or  Diable,  for  by  all  these 
names  he  was  known,  entered  the  apartment. 

This  able  but  most  unprincipled  man  has  been 
already  described,  in  so  far  as  his  exterior  is 
concerned.  The  aptest  resemblance  of  his  mo- 
tions and  manners  might  perhaps  be  to  those  of 
the  domestic  cat,  which,  while  couching  in  seem- 
ing slumber,  or  gliding  through  the  apartment 
with  slow,  stealthy,  and  timid  steps,  is  now  en- 
gaged in  watching  the  hole  of  some  unfortunate 
mouse,  now  in  rubbing  herself  with  apparent 
confidence  and  fondness  against  those  by  whom 
she  desires  to  be  caressed,  and,  presently  after, 
is  flying  upon  her  prey,  or  scratching,  perhaps, 
the  very  object  of  her  former  cajolements. 

He  entered  with  stooping  shoulders,  a  humble 
and  modest  look,  and  threw  such  a  degree  of 
civility  into  his  address  to  the  Seignor  Balafre, 
that  no  one  who  saw  the  interview  could  have 
avoided  concluding  that  he  came  to  ask  a  boon 
of  the  Scottish  Archer.  He  congratulated  Lesly 
on  the  excellent  conduct  of  his  young  kinsman  in 
the  chase  that  day,  which,  he  observed,  had  at- 
tracted the  King's  particular  attention.  He  here 
paused  for  a  reply;  and  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  ground,  save  just  when  once  or  twice  they 
stole  upwards  to  take  a  side  glance  at  Quentin, 
he  heard  Balafre  observe,  "  That  his  Majesty 
had  been  unlucky  in  not  having  himself  by  his 
side  instead  of  his  nephew,  as  he  would  question- 
less have  made  in  and  speared  the  brute,  a  matter 
which  he  understood  Quentin  had  left  upon  his 
Majesty's  royal  hands,  so  far  as  he  could  learn 
the  story.  But  it  will  be  a  lesson  to  his  Majes- 
ty," he  said,  "  while  he  lives,  to  mount  a  man 
of  my  inches  on  a  better  horse  j   for  how  could 


THE    SENTINEL.  155 

my  great  hill  of  a  Flemish  dray-horse  keep  up 
with  his  Majesty's  Norman  runner?  I  am  sure 
I  spurred  till  his  sides  were  furrowed.  It  is  ill 
considered,  Master  Oliver,  and  you  must  repre- 
sent it  to  his  Majesty." 

Master  Oliver  only  replied  to  this  observation 
by  turning  towards  the  bold  bluff  speaker  one  of 
those  slow,  dubious  glances,  which,  accompanied 
by  a  slight  motion  of  the  hand,  and  a  gentle  de- 
pression of  the  head  to  one  side,  may  be  either 
interpreted  as  a  mute  assent  to  what  is  said,  or 
as  a  cautious  deprecation  of  farther  prosecution 
of  the  subject.  It  was  a  keener,  more  scrutinis- 
ing glance  which  he  bent  on  the  youth,  as  he 
said,  with  an  ambiguous  smile,  "  So,  young  man, 
is  it  the  wont  of  Scotland  to.  suffer  your  princes 
to  be  endangered  for  the  lack  of  aid,  ^n  such 
emergencies  as  this  of  to-day?" 

"  It  is  our  custom,''  answered  Quentin,  deter- 
mined to  throw  no  farther  light  on  the  subject, 
"not  to  encumber  them  with  assistance  in  ho- 
nourable pastimes,  when  they  can  aid  themselves 
without  it.  We  hold  that  a  prince  in  a  hunting 
fied  must  take  his  chance  with  others,  and  that 
he  comes  there  for  the  very  purpose. — What 
were  wood-craft  without  fatigue  and  without 
danger?" 

<l  You  hear  the  silly  boy,"  said  his  uncle  ; 
u  that  is  always  the  way  with  him,  he  hath  an 
answer  or  a  reason  ready  to  be  rendered  for  every 
one.  I  wonder  whence  he  hath  caught  the  gift ; 
I  never  could  give  a  reason  for  any  thing  I  have 
ever  done  in  my  life,  except  for  eating  when  I 
was  a-hungry,  calling  the  muster-roll,  and  such 
points  of  duty  as  the  like.,, 

"  And  pray,  worth)  Seignor,"  said  the  royal 
tonsor,  looking   at  him  from  under  his  eye-lids, 


3  56  THE    SENTINEL. 

**•  what  might  your  reason  be  for  calling  the  mus- 
ter-roll on  such  occasions?" 

"  Because  the  Captain  commanded  me,"  said 
Balatre.  « By  Saint  Giles,  I  know  no  other 
reason  !  If  he  had  commanded  Tyrie  or  Cun- 
ningham, they  must  have  done  the  same." 

"  A  most  military  final  'cause  !"  said  Oliver. 
«*  But,  Seignor  Balafre,  you  will  be  glad,  doubt- 
less, to  leatn  that  his  Majesty  is  so  far  from  be- 
ing displeased  with  your  nephew's  conduct  that 
he  hath  selected  him  to  execute  a  piece  of  duty 
this  afternoon." 

•'Selected  him!"  said  Balafre,  in  great  sur- 
prise ; — "  Selected  me,  I  suppose  you  mean." 

i(  I  mean  precisely  as  I  speak,*'  replied  the 
barber,  in  a  mild  but  decided  tone  ;  "  the  King 
hath  a  commission  with  which  to  entrust  your 
nephevv." 

<«  Why,  wherefore,  and  for  what  reason  ?" 
said  Balafre  ;  <c  why  doth  he  choose  the  boy,  and 


not  me 


?■>■> 


"  I  can  go  no  farther  back  than  your  own  ulti- 
mate cause,  Seignor  Balafre  j  such  are  his  Ma- 
jesty's commands.  But,"  said  he,  "  if  I  might 
use  the  presumption  to  form  a  conjecture,  it  may 
be  his  Majesty  hath  work  to  do,  fitter  for  a  youth 
like  your  nephew,  than  for  an  experienced  war- 
rior like  yourself,  Seignor  Balafre. — Wherefore, 
young  gentleman,  get  your  weapons  and  follow 
me.  Bring  with  you  a  harquebuss,  for  you  are 
to  mount  sentinel." 

"  Sentinel !"  said  the  uncle — "  Are  you  sure 
you  are  right,  Master  Oliver?  The  inner  guards 
have  ever  been  mounted  by  those  only  who  have 
(like  me)  served  twelve  years  in  our  honourable 
body." 

"  I  am  quite  certain  of  his  Majesty's  pleasure," 


THE    SENTINEL.  157 

said  Oliver,  "  and  must  no  longer  delay  execut- 
ing it. — Have  the  goodness  to  assist  to  put  your 
nephew  in  order  for  the  service." 

JJalafre,  who  had  no  ill  nature,  or  even  much 
jealousy  in  his  disposition,  hastily  set  about  ad- 
justing his  nephew's  dress,  and  giving  him  di- 
rections for  his  conduct  under  arms,  but  was 
unable  to  refrain  from  larding  them  with  inter- 
jections of  surprise  at  such  luck  chancing  to  fall 
upon  the  young  man  so  early. 

"  It  had  never  taken  place  before  in  the  Scot- 
tish Guard,"  he  said,  "  not  even  in  his  own  in- 
stance. But  doubtless  his  service  must  be  to 
mount  guard  over  the  popinjays  and  Indian  pea- 
cocks, which  the  Venetian  ambassador  had  lately 
presented  to  the  King— it  could  be  nothing  else, 
and  such  duty  being  only  fit  for  a  beardless  boy, 
(here  he  twirled  his  own  grim  moustaches,)  he 
was  glad  the  lot  had  fallen  on  his  fair  nephew.'' 

Quick,  and  sharp  of  wit,  as  well  as  ardent  in 
fancy,  Quentin  saw  visions  of  higher  importance 
in  this  early  summons  to  the  royal  presence,  and 
his  heart  beat  high  at  the  anticipation  of  rising 
into  speedy  distinction.  He  determined  carefully 
to  watch  the  manners  and  language  of  his  con- 
ductor, which  he  suspected  must,  in  some  cases 
at  least,  be  interpreted  by  contraries,  as  sooth- 
sayers are  said  to  discover  the  interpretation  of 
dreams.  He  could  not  but  hug  himself  on  having 
observed  strict  secrecy  on  the  events  of  the  chacer 
and  then  formed  a  resolution,  which,  for  so  young 
a  person,  had  much  prudence  in  it,  that  while 
he  breathed  the  air  of  this  secluded  and  myste- 
rious court,  he  would  keep  his  thoughts' locked 
in  his  bosom,  and  his  tongue  under  the  most 
careful  regulation. 

His  equipment  was  soon  complete,  and,  with 
his  harquebuss  on  his  shoulder,  (for  though  they 
Vol.  I— 14 


158  THE    SENTINEL. 

retained  the  name  of  Archers,  the  Scottish  Guard 
very  early  substituted  fire-arms  for  the  long-bow, 
in  the  use  of  which  their  nation  never  excelled,) 
he  followed  Master  Oliver  out  of  the  barrack. 

His  uncle  looked  long  after  him,  with  a  coun- 
tenance in  which  wonder  was  blended  with  cu- 
riosity; and  though  neither  envy  nor  the  malig- 
nant feelings  which  it  engenders,  entered  into  his 
honest  meditations,  there  was  yet  a  sense  of 
wounded  or  diminished  self-importance,  which 
mingled  with  the  pleasure  excited  by  his  ne- 
phew's favourable  commencement  of  service. 

He  shook  his  head  gravely,  opened  a  privy 
cupboard,  took  out  a  large  bottrine  of  stout  old 
wine,  shook  it  to  examine  how  low  the  contents 
had  ebbed,  filled  and  drank  a  hearty  cup  ;  then 
took  his  seat,  half  reclining,  on  the  great  oaken 
settle,  and  having  once  again  slowly  shaken  his 
head,  received  so  much",  apparent  benefit  from 
the  oscillation,  that,  like  the  toy  called  a  manda- 
rin, he  continued  the  motion  until  he  dropped 
into  a  slumber,  from  which  he  was  first  roused 
by  the  signal  to  dinner. 

When  Quentin  Durward  left  his  uncle  to  these 
sublime  meditations,  he  followed  his  conductor, 
Master  Oliver,  who,  without  crossing  any  of  the 
principal  courts,  led  him  partly  through  private 
passages  exposed  to  the  open  air,  but  chiefly 
through  a  maze  of  stairs,  vaults  and  galleries, 
communicating  with  each  other  by  secret  doors, 
and  at  unexpected  points,  into  a  large  and  spa- 
cious latticed  gallery,  which,  from  its  breadth, 
might  have  been  almost  termed  a  hall,  hung  with 
tapestry  more  ancient  than  beautiful,  and  with  a 
very  few  of  the  hard,  cold,  ghastly-looking  pic- 
tures, belonging  to  the  first  dawn  ©f  the  arts, 
which  preceded  their  splendid  sunrise.  These 
were  designed  to  represent  the  Paladins  of  Char- 


THE    SENTINEL.  159 

lemagne,  who  made  such  a  distinguished  figure 
in  the  romantic  history  of  France  ;  and  as  the 
gigantic  form  of  the  celebrated  Orlando  consti- 
tuted the  most  prominent  figure,  the  apartment 
acquired  from  him  the  title  of  Roland's  Hall,  or 
Roland's  Gallery. 

t(  You  will  keep  watch  here,"  said  Oliver,  in 
a  low  whisper,  as  if  the  hard  delineations  of  mo- 
narchs  and  warriors  around  could  have  been  of- 
fended at  the  elevation  of  his  voice,  or  as  if  he 
had  feared  to  awaken  the  echoes  that  lurked 
among  the  groined-vaults  and  Gothic  drop-work 
of  this  huge  and  dreary  apartment. 

'<  What  are  the  orders  and  signs  of  my  watch?" 
answered  Quentin  in  the  same  suppressed  tone. 

<c  Is  your  harquebuss  loaded  ?"  replied  Oliver, 
without  answering  his  query. 

<c  That,"  answered  Quentin,  u  is  soon  done;" 
and  proceeded  to  charge  his  weapon,  and  to  light 
the  slow-match,  (by  which  when  necessary  it  was 
discharged,)  at  the  embers  of  a  wood-fire,  which 
was  expiring  in  the  huge  hall  chimney — a  chim- 
ney itself  so  large,  that  it  might  have  been  called 
a  Gothic  closet  or  chapel  appertaining  to  the  hall. 

When  this  was  performed,  Oliver  told  him 
that  he  was  ignorant  of  one  of  the  high  privileges 
of  his  own  corps,  which  only  received  orders 
from  the  King  in  person,  or  the  High  Constable 
of  France,  in  lieu  of  their  own  officers.  '<  You 
are  placed  here  by  his  Majesty's  command, 
young  man,"  added  Oliver,  "  and  you  will  not 
be  long  here  without  knowing  wherefore  you  are 
summoned.  Meantime  your  walk  extends  along 
this  gallery.  You  are  permitted  to  stand  still 
while  you  list,  but  on  no  account  to  sit  down,  or 
quit  your  weapon.  You  are  not  to  sing  aloud,  or 
whistle  upon  any  account ;  but  you  may,  if  you 
list,  mutter  some  of  the  church's  prayers,  or  what 


160  THE    SENTINEL. 

you  list  that  has  no  offence  in  it,  in  a  low  voice* 
Farewel,  and  keep  good  watch." 

'«  Good  watch  !*'  thought  the  youthful  soldier 
as  his  guide  stole  away  from  him  with  that  noise- 
less gliding  step  which  was  peculiar  to  him,  and 
vanished  through  a  side-door  behind  the  arras — 
k*  Good  watch  !  but  upon  whom,  and  against 
whom  ? — for  what,  save  bats  or  rats,  are  there 
here  to  contend  with,  unless  these  grim  old  re- 
presentatives of  humanity  should  start  into  life 
for  the  disturbance  of  my  guard  ?  Well,  it  is 
my  duty,  I  suppose,  and  I  must  perform  it." 

With  the  vigorous  purpose  of  discharging  his 
duty,  even  to  the  very  rigour,  he  tried  to  while 
away  the  time  with  some  of  the  pious  hymns 
which  he  had  learned  in  the  convent  in  which 
he  had  found  shelter  after  the.  death  of  his  father 
•—allowing  in  his  own  mind,  that,  but  for  the 
.  hange  of  a  novice's  frock  for  the  rich  military 
dress  which  he  now  wore,  his  soldierly  walk  in 
the  royal  gallery  of  France  resembled  greatly 
those  of  which  he  had  tired  excessively  in  the 
cloistered  seclusion  of  Aberbrothock. 

Presently,  as  if  to  convince  himself  he  now  be- 
longed not  to  the  cell  but  to  the  world,  he  chaunt- 
ed  to  himself,  but  in  such  tone  as  not  to  exceed 
the  license  given  to  him,  some  of  the  ancient 
rude  ballads  which  the  old  family  harper  had 
taught  him,  of  the  defeat  of  the  Danes  at  Abcr- 
lemno  and  Forres,  the  murther  of  King  DuflTus 
at  Forfar,  and  other  pithy  sonnets  and  lays, 
which  appertained  to  the  history  of  his  distant 
native  country,  and  particularly  of  the  district  to 
which  he  belonged.  This  wore  away  a  consider- 
able space  of  time,  and  it  was  now  more  than 
two  hours  past  noon,  when  Quentin  was  remind- 
ed by  his  appetite,  that  the  good  fathers  of  Aber- 
brothock, however  strict  in  demanding  his  alien- 


THE    SENTINEL.  161 

dance  upon  the  hours  of  devotion,  were  no  less 
pointed  in  summoning  him  to  those  of  refection  ; 
whereas  here,  in  the  interior  of  a  royal  palace, 
after  a  morning  spent  in  exercise,  and  a  noon 
exhausted  in  duty,  no  man  seemed  to  consider 
it  as  a  natural  consequence  that  he  must  be  im- 
patient for  his  dinner. 

There  are,  however,  charms  in  sweet  sounds 
which  can  lull  to  rest  even  the  natural  feelings  of 
impatience,- by  which   Qaentin  was  now  visited. 
At  the  opposite   extremities  of  the  long  hall  or 
gallery,  were  two  large  doors  ornamentecf  with 
heavy  architraves,  probably  opening  into  differ- 
ent suites  of  apartments,  to  which  the  gallery- 
served  as  a  medium  of  mutual  communication. 
As  the  sentinel  directed  his  solitary  walk  betwixt 
these  two  entrances,  which  formed  the  boundary 
of  his  duty,  he  was  startled  by  a  strain  of  music, 
which   was  suddenly  waked  near  one   of  those 
doors,  and   which,  at   least  in  his  imagination, 
was  a  combination  of  the  same  lute  and  voice  by 
which  he  had  beeri  enchanted  upon  the  preceding 
day.     All  the  dreams  of  yesterday  morning,  so 
much  weakened  by  the  agitating  circumstances 
which  he  had  since  undergone,  again  arose  more 
vivid  from  their  slumber,   and,  planted  on  the 
spot  where  his  ear  could  most  conveniently  drink 
in  the  sounds,  Quentin  remained,  with  his  har- 
quebuss  shouldered,  his  mouth  half  open,  ear, 
eye,  and  soul  directed  to  the  spot,  rather  the  pic- 
ture of  a  sentinel  than  a  living  form,— without 
any  other  idea,  than  that  of  catching,  if  possible, 
each  passing  sound  of  the  dulcet  melody. 

These  delightful  sounds  were  but  partially 
heard — they  languished,  lingered,  ceased  totally, 
and  were  from  time  to  time  renewed  after  uncer- 
tain intervals.  But,  besides  that  music,  like 
beauty,  is  often  most  delightful,  or  at  least  most 
14  f 


162  THE  SENTINEL. 

interesting  to  the  imagination,  when  its  charms 
are  but  partially  displayed,  and  the  imagination 
is  left  to  fill  up  what  is  from  distance  but  imper- 
fectly detailed,  Quentin  had  matter  enough  to 
fill  up  his  reverie  during  the  intervals  of  fascina- 
tion. He  could  not  doubt,  from  the  report  of 
his  uncle's  comrades,  and  the  scene  which  had 
passed  in  the  presence-chamber  that  morning, 
that  the  syren  who  thus  delighted  his  ears,  was 
not,  as  he  had  profanely  supposed,  the  daughter 
or  kinswoman  of  a  base  Cabaretier,  but  the  dis- 
guised and  distressed  Countess,  for  whose  cause 
Kings  and  Princes  were  now  about  to  buckle  on 
armour,  and  put  lance  in  rest.  A  hundred  wild 
dreams,  such  as  romantic  and  adventurous  youth 
readilv  nourished  in  a  romantic  and  adventurous 
age,  chased  from  his  eyes  the  bodily  presentment 
of  the  actual  scene,  and  substituted  their  own  be- 
wildering delusions,  when  at  once,  and  rudely, 
they  were  banished  by  a  rough  grasp  laid  upon 
his  weapon,  and  a  harsh  voice  which  exclaimed, 
close  to  his  ear,  u  Ha  !  Pasque$-dzeu9  Sir  Squire, 
methinks  you  keep  sleepy  ward  here !" 

The  voice  was  the  tuneless,  yet  impressive 
and  ironical  tone  of  Maitre  Pierre,  and  Quentin, 
suddenly  recalled  to  himself,  saw,  with  shame 
and  fear,  that  he  had,  in  his  reverie,  permitted 
Louis  himself — entering  probably  by  some  secret 
door,  and  gliding  along  by  the  wall,  or  behind 
the  tapestry — to  approach  him  so  nearly,  as  al- 
most to  master  his  weapon. 

The  first  impulse  of  his  surprise  was  to  free 
his  harquebuss  by  a  violent  exertion,  which  made 
the  King  stagger  backward  into  the  hall.  His 
next  apprehension  was,  that,  in  obeying  the  ani- 
»al  instinct,  as  it  may  be  termed,  which  prompts 
a  brave  man  to  resist  an  attempt  to  disarm  him, 
he  had  aggravated,  by  a  personal  struggle  with 


THE  SENTINEL.  163 

the  King,  the  displeasure  produced  by  the  negli- 
gence with  which  he  had  performed  his  duty 
upon  guard  ;  and,  under  this  impression,  he  re- 
covered his  harquebuss  without  almost  knowing 
what  he  did,  and  having  again  shouldered  it, 
stood  motionless  before  the  Monarch,  whom  he 
had  reason  to  conclude  he  had  mortally  offended. 

Louis,  whose  tyrannical  disposition  was  less 
founded  on  natural  ferocity  or  cruelty  of  temper, 
than  on  cold-blooded  policy  and  jealous  suspi- 
cion, had,  nevertheless,  a  share  of  that  caustic 
severity  which  would  have  made  him  a  despot  in 
private  conversation,  and  always  seemed  to  enjoy 
the  pain  which  he  inflicted  on  occasions  like  the 
present.  But  he  did  not  push  his  triumph  far, 
and  contented  himself  with  saying, — c«  Thy  ser- 
vice of  the  morning  hath  already  overpaid  some 
negligence  in  so  young  a  soldier — Hast  thou 
dined?" 

Quentin,  who  rather  looked  to  be  sent  to  the 
Provost-Marshal  than  greeted  with  such  a  com- 
pliment, answered  humbly  in  the  negative. 

"  Poor  lad,"  said  Louis,  in  a  softer  tone  than 
he  usually  spoke  in,  u  hunger  hath  made  him 
drowsy. — I  know  thine  appetite  is  a  wolf,"  he 
continued  ;  **  and  I  will  save  thee  from  one  wild 
beast  as  thou  didst  me  from  another ;  thou  hast 
been  prudent  too  in  that  matter,  and  I  thank  thee 
for  it.  Canst  thou  yet  hold  out  an  hour  without 
food  V9 

"  Four-and-twenty,  Sire,"  replied  Durward, 
<*  or  I  were  no  true  Scot." 

«4 1    would   not   for  another  kingdom   be   the 

pasty  to  encounter  thee  after  such  a  vigil,"  said 

the  King;  " but  the  question  now  is,  not  of  thy 

dinner,   but  of  my  own.     I  admit  to   my  table 

his    day,   and    in   strict   privacy,   the    Cardinal 

Ulue  and  this  Burgundian — this  Count  de  Cre- 


164  THE  SENTINEL. 

vecceur,  and  something  may  chance — the  devil 
is  most  busy  when  foes  meet  on  terms  of  truce. ° 

He  stopped,  and  remained  silent,  with  a  deep 
and  gloomy  look.  As  the  King  was  in  no  haste 
to  proceed,  Quentin  at  length  ventured  to  ask 
what  his  duty  was  to  be  in  these  circumstances. 

l<  To  keep  watch  at  the  beauffet,  with  thy 
loaded  weapon,*'  said  Louis  ;  "  and  if  there  is 
treason,  to  shoot  the  traitor  dead." 

41  Treason,  Sire  !  and  in  this  guarded  Castle  !" 
exclaimed  Durward. 

"  You  think  it  impossible,''  said  the  King,  not 
offended,  it  would  seem,  by  his  frankness  ;  "  but 
our  history  has  shewn  that  treason  can  creep 
into    an    augre-hole  Treason    excluded    by 

guards  !  O  thou  silly  boy  ! — quis  costodiat  ipsos 
custodes — who  shall  exclude  the  treason  of  those 
very  warders  ?" 

*•  Their  Scottish  honour,"  answered  Durward, 
boldly. 

"  True  ;  most  right — thou  pleasest  me,"  said 
the  King,  cheerfully  ;  '<  the  Scottish  honour  was 
ever  true,  and  I  trust  it  accordingly.  But 
Treason  !" — Here  he  relapsed  into  his  former 
gloomy  mood,  and  traversed  the  apartment  with 
unequal  steps — "  She  sits  at  our  feasts,  she 
sparkles  in  our  bowls,  she  wears  the  beard  of  our 
counsellors,  the  smiles  of  our  courtiers,  the  crazy 
laugh  of  our  jesters'— above  all,  she  lies  hid  under 
the  friendly  air  of  a  reconciled  enemy.  Louis 
of  Orleans  trusted  John  of  Burgundy— he  was 
murdered  in  the  Rue  Barbette.  John  of  Bur- 
gundy trusted  the  faction  of  Orleans — he  was 
murdered  on  the  bridge  of  Montereau.  I  will 
trust  no  one — no  one.  Hark  ye  ;  I  will  keep 
my  eye  on  that  insolent  Count ;  ay,  and  on  the 
Churchman  too,  whom  I  hold  not  too  faithful. 


THE  SENTINEL.  1G5 

When  I  say,  Ecosse,  en  avant,  shoot  Crevecceur 
dead  on  the  spot." 

"  It  is  my  duty,"  said  Quentin,  "  your  Ma- 
jesty's life  being  endangered." 

"  Certainly — I  mean  it  no  otherwise,"  said  the 
King — ««  What  should  I  get  by  slaving  this  in- 
solent soldier  ? — Were  it  the  Constable  Saint 
Paul  indeed'1 — Here  he  paused,  as  if  he  thought 
he  had  said  a  word  too  much,  but  resumed, 
laughing,  "  There's  our  brother-in-law,  James  of 
Scotland — your  own  James,  Quemin — poniard- 
ed the  Douglas  when  on  a  hospitable  visit,  with- 
in his  own  royal  castle  of  Skirling." 

l<  Of  Stirling,"  said  Quentin,  "  and  so  please 
your  highness. — It  was  a  deed  of  which  came 
little  good." 

"Stirling  call  you  the  castle  ?'>  said  the  King, 
overlooking  the  latter  part  of  Quentin's  speech — 
"Well,  let  it  be  Stirling — the  name  is  nothing 
to  the  purpose.  But  I  meditate  no  injurv  to 
these  men — none — It  would  serve  me  nothing. 
They  may  not  purpose  equally  fair  by  me. — I 
rely  on  thy  harquebuss.* 

"  I  shall  be  prompt  at  the  signal,"  said  Quen- 
tin ;  »'  but  yet " 

'<  You  hesitate,"  said  the  King.  "  Speak  out 
—  I  give  thee  full  leave.  From  such  as  thee 
hints  may  be  caught  that  are  right  valuable." 

"  I  would  only  presume  to  say,"  replied  Quen- 
tin,    "that    your    Majesty  having    occasion     to 
distrust  this  Burgundian,  I  marvel  that  you  suf- 
'  fer  him   to  approach  so  near  your  person,   and 
that  in  privacy." 

«*  O  content  you,  Sir  Squire,"  said  the  King. 
"There  are  some  dangers,  which,  when  they  are 
braved,  disappear,  and  which  vet,  when  there 
is  an  obvious  and   apparent  dread  of  them  dis* 


166  THE  SENTINEL. 

played,  become  certain  and  inevitable.  When  I 
walk  boldly  up  to  a  surly  mastiff,  and  caress  him, 
it  is  ten  to  one  I  sooth  him  to  good  temper ;  if  I 
shew  fear  of  him,  he  flies  on  me  and  rends  me. 
I  will  be  thus  far  frank  with  thee — It  concerns 
me  nearly  that  this  man  returns  not  to  his  head- 
long master  in  a  resentful  humour.  I  run  my 
risk,  therefore.  I  have  never  shunned  io  expose 
my  life  for  the  weal  of  my  kingdom. — Follow 
me." 

Louis  led  his  young  Life-guardsman,  for 
whom  he  seemed  to  have  taken  a  special  favour, 
through  the  side-door  by  which  he  had  himself 
entered,  saying,  as  he  shewed  it  him,  "  He  who 
would  thrive  at  court  must  know  the  private 
wickets  and  concealed  stair-cases — ay,  and  the 
traps  and  pitfalls  of  the  palace,  as  well  as  the 
principal  entrances,  folding-doors,  and  portals." 

After  several  turns  and  passages,  the  King  en- 
tered a  small  vaulted  room,  where  a  table  was 
prepared  for  dinner  with  three  covers.  The 
whole  furniture  and  arrangements  of  the  room 
were  plain  almost  to  meanness.  A  beauffet,  or 
folding  and  moveable  cup-board,  held  a  few 
pieces  of  gold  and  silver  plate,  and  was  the  only 
article  in  the  chamber  which  had,  in  the  slight- 
est degree,  the  appearance  of  royalty.  Behind 
this  cupboard,  and  completely  hidden  by  it,  was 
the  post  which  Louis  assigned  to  Quentin  Dur- 
ward  ;  and  after  having  ascertained,  by  going  to 
different  parts  of  the  room,  that  he  was  invisible 
on  all  quarters,  he  gave  him  his  last  charge—- 
(i  Remember  the  word,  Ecosse,  en  avant ;  and  so 
soon  as  ever  I  utter  these  sounds,  throw  down 
the  screen — spare  not  for  cup  or  goblet,  and  be 
sure  thou  take  good  aim  at  Crevecceur — If  thy 
piece  fail,  cling  to  him,  and  use  thy  knife— Oli- 
ver and  I  can  deal  with  the  Cardinal." 


THE    SENTINEL.  167 

Having  thus  spoken,  he  whistled  aloud,  and 
summoned  into  the  apartment  Oliver,  who  was 
premier-valet  of  the  chamber  as  well  as  barber, 
and  who,  in  fact,  performed  all  offices  immedi- 
ately connected  with  the  King's  person,  and  who 
now  appeared,  attended  by  two  old  men,  who 
were  the  only  assistants  or  waiters  at  the  royal 
table.  So  soon  as  the  King  had  taken  his  place, 
the  visitors  were  admitted  ;  and  Quentin,  though 
himself  unseen,  was  so  situated  as  to  remark  all 
the  particular  of  the  interview. 

The  King  welcomed  his  visitors  with  a  degree 
of  cordiality,  which  Quentin  had  the  utmost  dif- 
ficulty to  reconcile  with  the  directions  which  he 
had  previously  received,  and  the  purpose  for 
which  he  stood  behind  the  beauffet  with  his  dead- 
ly weapon  in  readiness.  Not  only  did  Louis  ap- 
pear totally  free  from  apprehension  of  any  kind, 
but  one  would  have  supposed  that  those  guests 
whom  he  had  done  the  high  honour  to  admit  to 
his  table,  were  the  very  persons  in  whom  he 
could  most  unreservedly  confide,  and  whom  he 
was  most  willing  to  honour.  Nothing  could  be 
more  dignified,  and,  at  the  same  time,  more  cour- 
teous, than  his  demeanour.  While  all  around 
him,  including  even  his  own  dress,  was  far  be- 
neath what  the  petty  princes  of  the  kingdom  dis- 
played in  their  festivities,  his  own  language  and 
manners  were  those  of  a  mighty  Sovereign  in  his 
most  condescending  mood.  Quentin  was  tempt- 
ed to  suppose,  either  that  the  whole  of  his  pre- 
vious conversation  with  Louis  had  been  a  dream 
or  that  the  dutiful  demeanour  of  the  Cardinal,' 
and  the  frank,  open,  and  gallant  bearing  of  the 
Burgundian  noble,  had  entirely  erased  the  King's 
suspicions. 

But  whilst  the  guests,  in  obedience  to  the 
King,  were  in  the  act  of  placing  themselves  at 


168  THE    SENTINEL. 

the  table,  his  Majesty  darted  one  keen  glance  on 
them  and  then  instantly  directed  his  look  to 
Quentin's  post.  This  was  done  in  an  instant  ; 
but  the  glance  conveyed  so  much  doubt  and  ha- 
tred towards  his  guests,  such  a  peremptory  in- 
junction on  Quentin  to  be  watchful  in  atten- 
dance, and  prompt  in  execution,  that  no  room 
was  left  for  doubting  that  the  sentiments  of  Louis 
continued  unaltered,  and  his  apprehensions  un- 
abated. He  was  therefore,  more  than  ever  as- 
tonished at  the  deep  veil  under  which  that  Mo- 
narch was  able  to  conceal  the  movements  of  his 
jealous  disposition. 

Appearing  to  have  entirely  forgotten  the  lan- 
guage which  Crevecoeur  had  held  towards  him  in 
the  face  of  his  court,  the  King  conversed  with  him 
of  old  times,  of  events  which  had  occurred  during 
his  own  exile  in  the  territories  of  Burgundy,  and 
inquired  respecting  all  the  nobles  with  whom  he 
had  been  then  familiar,  as  if  that  period  had  indeed 
been  the  happiest  of  his  life,  and  as  if  he  retained 
towards  all  who  had  contributed  to  soften  the 
term  of  his  exile  the  kindest  and  most  grateful 
sentiments. 

"  To  an  ambassador  of  another  nation,"  he 
said.  4<  I  would  have  thrown  something  of  state 
into  our  reception  ;   but   to  an   old  friend,  who 
shared  my   board  at  the  Castle  of  Genappes,   I 
wished   to  shew  myself,  as  I  love  best  to  live, 
old  Louis  of  Valois,  as  simple  and  plain  as  any 
of  his   Parisian  badauds.     But  I   directed  them    i 
to  make  seme  better  cheer  for  you,   Sir  Count,  J 
for  I  know  your  Burgundian  proverb,   <  Mieux 
vault  bon  repas  que  be/  habit,'   and   I  bid  them 
have  some  care  of  our  table.    For  our  wine,  you    \ 
know   well  it  is  the  subject  of  an  old  emulation  . 
betwixt  France  and  Burgundy,   which  we  will 
presently  reconcile  ;  for  I  will  drink  to  you  in 


THE    SENTINEL.  169 

Burgundy,  and  you,  Sir  Count  shall  pledge  me 
m  Champagne.— Here,  Oliver,  let  me  have  a  cup 
of  Fin  d* Auxerre ;*'  and  he  humbed  gaily  a  song 
then  well  known — 

"  Auxerre  est  le  boisson  des  Rois." 

"  Here,  Sir  Count,  I  drink  to  the  health  of  the 
noble  Duke  of  Burgundy,  our  kind  and  loving 
cousin. — Oliver,  replenish  yon  golden  cup  with 
Fin  de  Rheims,  and  give  it  to  the  Count  on  your 
knee — he  represents  our  loving  brother. — My 
Lord  Cardinal,  we  will  ourself  fill  your  cup." 

"  You  have  already,  Sire,  even  to  overflow- 
ing," said  the  Cardinal,  with  the  lowly  mien  of 
a  favourite  towards  an  indulgent  master. 

u  Because  we  know  that  your  Eminence  can  car- 
ry it  with  a  steady  hand,"  said  Louis.  "  But  which 
side  do  you  espouse  in  the  great  controversy — 
Sillery  or  Auxerre — France  or  Burgundy." 

«  I  will  stand  neutral,  Sire,"  said  the  Cardinal, 
u  and  replenish  my  cup  with  Auvernat." 

4<  A  neutral  has  a  perilous  part  to  sustain," 
said  the  King  ;  but  as  he  observed  the  Cardinal 
colour  somewhat,  he  glided  from  the  subject,  and 
added,  "  But  you  prefer  the  Auvernat,  because  it 
is  so  noble  it  suffers  not  water. — You,  Sir  Count, 
hesitate  to  fill  your  cup.  I  trust  you  have  found 
no  national  bitterness  at  the  bottom." 

u  I  would,  Sir,''  said  the  Count  de  Crevecceur, 
•'•  that  all  national  quarrels  could  be  as  pleasantly 
ended  as  the  rivalry  betwixt  our  vineyards." 

M  With  time,  Sir  Count — with  time — such  time 
as  you  have  taken  to  your  draught  of  Cham- 
pagne.— And  now  that  it  is  finished,  favour  me  by 
,  putting  the  goblet  in  your  bosom,  and  keeping  it 
I  as  a  pledge  of  our  regard.  It  is  not  to  every  one 
.  that  we  would  part  with  it.  It  belonged  of  yore 
to  that  terror  of  France,  Henry  V.  of  England, 
and  was  taken  when  Rouen  was  reduced,  and 
those  islanders  expelled  from  Normandy  by  the 
Vol.  I.— 15 


170  THE    SENTINEL. 

joint  arms  of  France  and  Burgundy.  It  cannot 
be  better  bestowed  than  on  a  noble  and  valiant 
Burgundian,  who  well  knows  that  in  the  union  of 
these  two  nations  depends  the  continuance  of  the 
freedom  of  the  continent  from  the  English  yoke." 

The  Count  made  a  suitable  answer,  and  Louis 
gave  unrestrained  way  to  the  satirical  gaiety  of 
disposition  which  sometimes  enlivened  the  darker 
shades  of  his  character.  Leading,  of  course,  the 
conversation,  his  remarks,  always  shrewd  and 
caustic,  and  often  actually  witty,  were  seldom 
good-natured,  and  the  anecdotes  with  which  he 
illustrated  them  were  often  more  humorous  than 
delicate  ;  but  in  no  one  word,  syllable,  Or  letter, 
did  he  betray  the  state  of  mind  of  one  who,  ap- 
prehensive of  assassination,  hath  in  his  apartment 
an -armed  soldier,  with  his  piece  loaded,  in  order 
to  prevent  or  anticipate  the  deed. 

The  Count  of  Crevecceur  gave  frankly  into 
the  King's  humour ;  while  the  smooth  church- 
man laughed  at  every  jest,  and  enhanced  every 
ludicrous  idea,  without  expressing  any  shame  at 
expressions  which  made  the  rustic  young  Scot 
blush  even  in  his  place  of  concealment.  In  about 
an  hour  and  a  half  the  tables  were  drawn  :  and 
the  King,  taking  courteous  leave  of  his  guests, 
gave  the  signal  that  it  was  his  desire  to  be  alone. 

So  soon  as  all,  even  Oliver  had  retired,  he 
called  Quentin  from  his  place  of  concealment ; 
but  with  a  voice  so  faint,  that  the  youth  could 
scarce  believe  it  to  be  the  same  which  had  so 
lately  given  animation  to  the  jest,  and  zest  to 
the  tale.  As  he  approached  he  saw  an  equal 
change  in  his  countenance.  The  light  of  as- 
sumed vivacity  had  left  his  eyes,  the  smile  had 
deserted  his  face,  and  he  exhibited  all  the  fatigue 
of  a  celebrated  actor,  when  he  has  finished  the 
exhausting  representation  of  some  favourite  cha- 
racter. 

"  Thy  watch  is  not  yet  over,"  he  said  to  Quen- 


THE  HALL  OF  ROLAND.  171 

tin — M  refresh  thyself  for  an  instant — yonder  dor- 
mant table  affords  the  means — I  will  then  instruct 
thee  in  thy  farther  duty.  Meanwhile,  it  is  ill 
talking,  between  a  full  man  and  a  fasting." 

He  threw  himself  back  on  his  seat,  covered 
his  brow  with  his  hand,  and  was  silent, 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  HALL  OF  ROLAND. 

Painters  shew  Cupid  blind — Hath  Hymen  eyesf 

Or  is  his  sight  warp'd  by  those  spectacles 

Which  parents,  guardians,  and  advisers  lend  him. 

That  he  may  look  through  them  on  lands  and  mansions, 

On  jewels,  gold,  and  all   such  rich  dotations, 

An  I  see  their  value  ten  times  magnified, 

Me  thinks  'twill  bi-ook  a  question. 

The  Miseries  of  enforced  Marriage . 

Louis  the  Xlth  of  France,  though  the  Sove- 
reign in  Europe  who  was  fondest  and  most  jea- 
lous of  potter,  desired  only  its  substantial  enjoy- 
ment,  and  though  he  knew  well  enough,  and  at 
timrs  exacted  strictly  the  observances  due  to  his 
rank,  was  in  general  singularly  careless  of  show, 

In  a  prince  of  better  qualities,  the  familiarity 
with  which  he  invited  subjects  to  his  board — 
nay,  occasionally  sat  at  theirs, — must  have  been 
highly  popular  ;  and  even  such  as  he  was,  the 
Kind's  homeliness  of  manners  atoned  for  many 
of  his  vices  with  that  class  of  his  subjects  who 
were  not  particularly  exposed  to  their  conse- 
quences. The  tiers  etat,  or  commons  of  France, 
who  rose  to  more  opulence  and  consequence  un- 
der the  reign  of  this  sagacious  prince,  respected 
his  person,  though  they  loved  him  not  ;  and  it 
was  resting  on  their  support  that  he  was  enabled 
to  make  his  parry  good  against  the  hatred  of  the 
nobles,  who  conceived  that  he  diminished  the 


172  THE  HALL  OF   ROLAND. 

honour  of  the  French  crown,  and  obscured  their 
own  splendid  privileges  by  the  very  neglect  of 
form  which  gratified  the  citizens  and  commons. 

With  patience,  which  most  other  princes  would 
have  considered  as  degrading,  and  not  without 
a  sense  of  amusement,  the  Monarch  of  France 
waited  till  his  Life-guard's-man  had  satisfied  the 
keenness  of  a  youthful  appetite.  It  may  be  sup- 
posed, however,  that  Quentin  had  too  much  sense 
and  prudence  to  put  the  royal  patience  to  a  long 
or  tedious  proof  j  and  indeed  he  was  repeatedly 
desirous  to  break  off  his  repast  ere  Louis  would 
permit  him.  u  I  see  it  in  thine  eye,"  he  said, 
«  that  thy  courage  is  not  half  abated.  Go  on 
—God  and  Saint  Dennis  ! — charge  again.  I  tell 
thee  that  meat  and  mass  (crossing  himself)  never 
hindered  the  work  of  a  good  Christian  man. 
Take  a  cup  of  wine  ;  but  mind  thou  be  cautious 
of  the  wine-pot — it  is  the  vice  of  thy  country- 
men as  well  as  of  the  English,  who,  lacking  that 
folly,  are  the  choicest  soldiers  ever  wore  armour. 
And  now  wash  speedily — forget  not  thy  benedi- 
cite,  and -follow  me." 

Quentin  Durward  obeyed,  and,  conducted  by 
a  different,  but  as  maze-like  an  approach,  as  he 
had  formerlv  passed,  he  followed  Louis  into  the 
Hall  of  Roland. 

«4  Take  notice,"  said  the  King,  imperatively, 
<4  thou  hast  never  left  this  post — let  that  be  thine 
answer  to  thine  kinsman  and  comrades — and, 
hark  thee, to  bind  the  recollection  on  thy  memory, 
I  give  thee  this  gold  chain,  (flinging'on  his  arm 
one  of  considerable  value,)  if  I  go  not  brave  my- 
self, those  whom  I  trust  have  ever  the  means  to 
ruffle  it  with  the  best.  But  when  such  chains  as 
these  bind  not  the  tongue  from  wagging  too  free- 
ly, my  gossip,  LTIermite,  hath  an  amulet  for  the 
throat,  which  never  fails  to  work  a  certain  cure. 
And  now  attend — no  man,  save  Oliver  or  I  my- 
self, enter  here  this  evening;  but  Indies  will  come 


THE  HALL  OF  ROLAND.  173 

hither,  perhaps  from  the  one  extremity  of  the 
hall,  perhaps  from  the  other,  perhaps  from  both. 
You  may  answer  if  they  address  you,  but,  being 
on  your  duty,  your  answer  must  be  brief;  and 
you  must  neither  address  them  in  your  turn,  nor 
engage  in  any  prolonged  discourse.  But  hearken 
to  what  they  say. — Thine  ears,  as  well  as  thy 
hands,  are  mine — I  have  bought  thee  body  and 
soul — therefore,  if  thou  hearest  aught  of  their 
conversation,  thou  must  retain  it  in  memory  until 
it  is  communicated  to  me,  and  then  forget  it. — 
And,  now  I  think  better  on  it,  it  will  be  best  that 
thou  pass  for  a  Scottish  recruit,  who  hath  come 
straight  down  from  his  mountains,  and  hath  not 
yet  acquired  our  most  Christian  language — right 
— so,  if  they  speak  to  thee,  thou  wilt  not  answer 
— this  will  free  you  from  embarrassment,  and 
lead  them  to  converse  without  regard  to  your 
presence.  You  understand  me- — Farewel.  Be 
wary,  and  thou  hast  a  friend." 

The  king  had  scarce  spoken  these  words  ere 
he  disappeared  behind  the  arras,  leaving  Quentin 
to  meditate  on  what  he  had  seen  and  heard.  The 
youth  was  in  one  of  those  situations  from  which 
it  is  pleasanter  to  look  forwards  than  to  look  back; 
for  the  reflection  that  he  had  been  planted  like  a 
marksman  in  a  thicket  who  watches  for  a  stag,  to 
take  the  life  of  the  noble  Count  of  Crevecosur, 
had  in  it  nothing  ennobling.  It  was  very  true 
that  the  King's  measures  seemed  on  this  occasion 
merely  cautionary  and  defensive;  but  how  did 
he  know  but  he  might  be  soon  commanded  on 
some  offensive  operation  of  the  same  kind?  This 
would  be  an  unpleasant  crisis,  since  it  was  plain, 
from  the  character  of  his  master,  that  there  would 
be  destruction  in  refusing,  while  his  honour  told 
him  there  wo  .Id  be  disgrace  in  complying.  He 
turned  his  thoughts  from  this  subject  of  reflec- 
tion, with  the  sage  consolation  so  often  adopted 
by  youth  when  prospective  dangers  intrude  them= 
15   f 


174  THE  HALL  OF  ROLAIs'b. 

selves  on  their  mind,  that  it  was  time  enough  to 
think  what  was  to  be  done  when  the  emergence 
actually  arrived,  and  that  sufficient  for  the  day 
was  the  evil  thereof. 

Quentin  made  use  of  this  sedative  reflection 
the  more  easily  that  the  last  commands  of  the 
King  had  given  him  something  more  agreeable 
to  think  of  than  his  own  condition.  The  Lady 
of  the  Lute  was  certainly  one  of  those  ladies  to 
whom  his  attention  was  to  be  dedicated  ;  and 
well  in  his  mind  did  he  promise  to  obey  one  part 
of  the  King's  mandate,  and  listen  with  diligence 
to  every  word  that  might  drop  from  her  lips,  that 
he  might  know  if  the  magic  of  her  conversation 
equalled  that  of  her  music.  But  with  as  much 
sincerity  did  he  swear  to  himself,  that  no  part  of 
her  discourse  should  be  reported  by  him  to  the 
King  which  might  affect  the  fair  speaker  other- 
wise than  favourably. 

Meantime,  there  was  no  fear  of  his  again 
slumbering  on  his  post.  Each  passing  breath  of 
wind,  which,  finding  its  way  through  the  open 
lattice,  waved  the  old  arras,  sounded  like  the  ap- 
proach of  the  fair  object  of  his  expectation.  He 
felt,  in  short,  all  that  mysterious  anxiety,  and 
eagerness  of  expectation,  which  is  always  the 
companion  of  love,  and  sometimes  hath  a  consi- 
derable  share  in  creating  it. 

At  length,  a  door  actually  creaked  and  jingled, 
([for  the  doors  even  of  palaces  did  not  in  the  fif- 
teenth century  turn  on  their  hinges  so  noiseless 
as  ours;)  but  alas  J  it  was  not  at  that  end  of  the 
hall  from  which  the  lute  had  been  heard.  It 
opened,  however,  and  a  female  figure  entered, 
followed  by  two  others,  whom  she  directed  by 
a  sign  to  remain  without  while  she  herself  came 
forward  into  the  hall.  By  her  imperfect  and  un- 
equal gait,  which  shewed  to  peculiar  disadvan- 
tage as  she  walked  along  this  long  gallery,  Quen- 
tin at  once  recognised  the  Princess  Joan,  and, 
with   the   respect  which  became   his   situation, 


THE  HALL  OF    ROLAND.  ITS 

drew  himself  up  in  a  fitting  attitude  of  silent  vi- 
gilance, and  lowered  his  weapon  to  her  as  she 
passed.  She  acknowledged  the  courtesy  by  a 
gracious  inclination  of  her  head,  and  he  had  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  her  countenance  more  dis- 
tinctly than  he  had  in  the  morning. 

There  was  little  in  the  features  of  this  ill-fated 
Princess  to  atone  for  the  misfortune  of  h^r shape 
and    gait.     Her  face  was,  indeed,  by  no  means 
disagreeable  in  itself,  though  destitute  of  beauty; 
and  there  was  a  meek  expression  of  suffering  pa- 
tience in  her  large  blue   eyes,  which  were  com- 
monly fixed  upon  the  ground.      But  besides  that 
she  was  extremely  pallid  in  complexion,  her  skin 
had  the  yellowish  discoloured  tinge  which   ac- 
companies habitual  bad  health  ;  and  though  her 
teeth  were  white  and  regular,  her  lips  were  thin 
and  pale.  The  Princess  had  a  profusion  of  flaxen 
hair,  but  it  was  so  light-coloured  as  to  be  almost 
of  a  bluish  tinge  ;  and  her  tire-woman,  who  doubt- 
less considered  the  luxuriance  of  her  mistress's 
tresses   as   a  beauty,  had   not  greatly  improved 
matters  on  the  whole,  by  arranging  them  in  curls 
around  her  pale  countenance,  to  which  they  gave 
an  expression  almost  unearthly.     To  make  mat- 
ters still  worse,  she  had  chosen  a  vest  or  cymar 
of  a  pale  green  silk,  which  gave  her,  on  the  whole, 
a  ghastly  and  even  spectral  appearance. 

While  Quentin  followed  this  singular  appari- 
tion with  eyes  in  which  curiosity  was  blended 
with  compassion,  for  every  look  and  motion  of 
the  Princess  seamed  to  call  for  the  latter  feeling, 
two  ladies  entered  trom  the  upper  end  of  the 
apartment. 

One  of  these  was  the  toung  person,  who,  upon 
Louis's  summons,  had  served  him  with  truit, 
while  Quen/in  made  his  me morahle  breakfast  at 
the  Fleur-de-Lvs.  Investe^now  with  all  the 
mysterious  dignity  belonging  to  the  nymph  of 
the  veil  and  lute,  and  proved,  besides,  (at  least  in 
Quentin's  estimation,)  to  be  the  high-born  heiress 


176  THE    HALL  OF   ROLAND. 

of  a  rich  earldom,  her  beauty  made  ten  times  the 
impression  upon  him  which  it  had  done  when  he 
beheld  in  her  one  whom  he  deemed  the  daughter 
of  a  paltry  innkeeper,  in  attendance  upon  a  rich 
and  humorous  old  burgher.  He  now  wondered 
what  fascination  could  ever  have  concealed  from 
him  her  real  character.  Yet  her  dress  was  nearly 
as  simple  as  before,  being  a  suit  of  deep  mourn- 
ing, without  any  ornaments.  Her  head-dress  was 
only  a  veil  of  crape,  which  was  entirely  thrown 
back,  so  as  to  leave  her  face  discovered  ;  and  it 
was  only  Quentin^s  knowledge  of  her  actual  rank 
which  gave  in  his  estimation  new  elegance  to  her 
beautiful  shape,  a  dignity  to  her  step,  which  had 
before  remained  unnoticed,  and  to  her  regular 
features,  brilliant  complexion,  and  dazzling  eyes, 
an  air  of  conscious  nobleness,  that  enhanced  their 
beauty. 

Had  death  been  the  penalty,  Durward  must 
needs  have  rendered  to  this  beauty  and  her  com- 
panion the  same  homage  which  he  had  just  paid 
to  the  royalty  of  the  Princess.  They  received  it 
as  those  who  were  accustomed  to  the  deference 
of  inferiors,  and  returned  it  with  courtesy  ;  but 
he  thought — perhaps  it  was  but  a  youthful  vision 
-—that  the  young  lady  coloured  slightly,  kept  he*r 
eyes  on  the  ground,  and  seemed  embarrassed, 
though  in  a  trifling  degree,  as  she  returned  his 
military  salutation.  This  must  have  been  owing 
to  her  recollection  of  the  audacious  stranger  in 
the  neighbouring  turret  at  the  Fleur-de-Lvs  : 
but  did  that  discomposure  express  displeasure  ? 
This  question  he  had  no  means  to  determine. 

The  companion  of  the  youthful  Countess,  dress- 
ed like  herself,  simply,  and  in  deep  mourning, 
was  at  the  age  when  women  are  apt  to  cling  most 
closely  to  that  reputation  for  beauty  which  has 
for  years  been  dimyjishing.  She  had  still  remains 
enough  to  shew  what  the  power  of  her  charms 
must  once  have  been,  and,  remembering  past  tri- 
umphs, it  was  evident  from  her  manner  that  she 


THE    HALL    OF    ROLAND.  1 77 

• 

had  not  relinquished  the  pretensions  to  future 
conquests.  She  was  tall  and  graceful,  though 
somewhat  haughty  in  her  deportment,  and  re- 
turned the  salute  of  Quentin  with  a  smile  of  gra- 
cious condescension,  whispering,  the  next  instant, 
something  into  her  companion's  ear,  who  turned 
towards  the  soldier,  as  if  to  comply  with  some 
hint  from  the  elder  lady,  but  answered,  neverthe- 
less, without  raising  her  eyes.  Quentin  could  not 
help  suspecting  that  the  observation  called  on  the 
young  lady  to  notice  his  own  good  mien  ;  and  he 
was  (I  do  not  know  why)  pleased  with  the  idea, 
that  the  party  referred  to  did  not  choose  to  look 
at  him,  in  order  to  verify  with  her  own  eyes  the 
truth  of  the  observation.  Probably  he  thought 
there  was  already  a  sort  of  mysterious  connection 
beginning  to  exist  between  them,  which  gave  im- 
portance to  the  slightest  trifle. 

This  reflexion  was  momentary,  for  he  was  in- 
stantly wrapped  up  in  attention  to  the  meeting 
of  the  Princess  with  these  stranger  ladies.  She 
had  stood  still  upon  their  entrance,  in  order  to 
receive  them,  conscious,  perhaps,  that  motion  did 
not  become  her  well ;  and  as  she  was  somewhat  em- 
barrassed in  receiving  and  repaying  their  compli- 
ments, the  elder  stranger,ignorant  of  the  rank  of  the 
party  whom  she  addressed,  was  led  to  pay  her  sa- 
lutation in  a  manner  rather  as  if  she  conferred 
than  received  an  honour  through  the  interview. 

<l  I  rejoice,  madam,"  she  said,  with  a  smile% 
which  was  meant  to  express  condescension  at 
once  and  encouragement,  "  that  we  are  at  length 
permitted  the  society  of  such  a  respectable  per- 
son of  our  own  sex  as  you  appear  to  be.  I  must 
say,  that  my  niece  and  I  have  had  but  little  for 
which  to  thank  the  hospitality  of  King  Louis. 
Nav,  niece,  never  pluck  my  sleeve—.!  am  sure  I 
read  in  the  looks  of  this  young  lady,  sympathy 
for  our  situation.  Since  we  came  hither,  fair 
madam,  we    have    been   used   little    better   than 


178  ^HE    HALL    OF    ROLAND. 

mere  prisoners ;  and  after  a  thousand  invitations 
to  throw  our  cause  and  our  persons  under  the 
protection  of  Fratice,  the  most  Christian  King 
has  afforded  us  but  a  base  inn  for  our  residence, 
and  now  a  corner  of  this  moth-eaten  palace,  out 
of  which  we  are  only  permitted  to  creep  towards 
sunset,  as  if  we  were  bats  or  owls,  whose  appear- 
ance in  the  sunshine  is  to  be  held  matter  of  ill  omen." 
u  I  am  sorry,"  said  the  Princess,  faltering  with 
the  awkward  embarrassment  of  the  interview, 
«  that  we  have  been  unable,  hitherto,  to  receive 
you  according  to  your  deserts. — Your  niece,  I 
trust,  is  better  satified." 

•*  Much — much  better  than  I  can  express,"  an- 
swered the  youthful  Countess. — «  I  sought  but 
safety  and  I  have  found  solitude,  and  secresy 
besides.  The  seclusion  of  our  former  residence, 
and  the  still  greater  solitude  of  that  now  assigned 
to  us,  augment,  in  my  eyes,  the  favour  which  the 
King  vouchsafed  to  us  unfortunate  fugitives." 

"Silence,  my  silly  cousin,"  said  the  elderly 
lady,  *«  and  let  us  speak  according  to  our  con- 
science, since  at  last  we  are  alone  with  one  of  our 
own  sex.  I  say  alone,  for  that  handsome  young 
soldier  is  a  mere  statue,  since  he  seems  not  to 
have  the  use  of  limbs,  and  I  am  given  to  under- 
stand he  wants  that  of  his  tongue,  at  least  in  ci- 
vilised language.  I  say,  since  no  one  but  this 
lady  can  understand  us,  I  must  own  there  is  no- 
thing I  have  regretted  equal  to  taking  this 
French  journey.  I  looked  for  a  splendid  recep- 
tion, tournaments,  carousals,  pageants,  and  fes- 
tivals, and  instead  of  which,  all  has  been  seclu- 
sion and  obscurity  ;  and  the  best  society  whom 
the  King  introduced  to  us  was  a  Bohemian  va- 
gabond, by  whom  he  directed  us  to  correspond 
with  our  friends  in  Flanders. — Perhaps,"  said 
the  Lady,  "  it  is  his  politic  intention  to  mew  us 
up  here  until  our  lives'  end,  that  he  may  seize  on 
our  estates,  on  the  extinction  of  the  ancient  house 


THE    KALL    ©F    ROLAND.  17"9 

«f  Croye.  The  Duke  of  Burgundy  was  not  so 
cruel;  he  offered  my  niece  a  husband,  though  he 
was  a  bad  one.'* 

'«  I  should  have  thought  the  veil  preferable 
to  an  evil  husband,"  said  the  Princess,  with 
difficulty  finding  opportunity  to  interpose  a  word. 

«  One  would  at  least  wish  to  have  the  choice. 
Madam,"  replied  the  voluble  dame  ;  "  it  is  Hea- 
ven knows,  on  account  of  my  neice  that  I  speak 
for  myself:  I  have  long  laid  aside  thoughts  of 
changing  my  condition.  I  see  you  smile,  but  by 
my  halidome,  it  is  true —  yet  that  is  no  excuse 
for  the  King,  whose  conduct,  like  his  person, 
hath  more  resemblance  to  that  of  old  Michaud, 
the  money-changer  of  Ghent,  than  to  the  suc- 
cessor of  Charlemagne." 

<*  Hold  !"  said  the  Princess  ;  "  remember  you 
speak  of  my  father." 

"  Of  your  father  !"  replied  the  Burgundian 
lady  in  surprise. 

M  Of  my  father,"  repeated  the  Princess,  with 
dignity.  "  I  am  Joan  of  France. — But  fear  not, 
madam,"  she  continued  in  the  gentle  tone  which 
was  natural  to  her,  "  you  designed  no  offence, 
and  I  have  taken  none.  Command  my  influence 
to  render  your  exile,  and  that  of  this  interesting 
voung  person,  more  supportable.  Alas  !  it  is  but 
little  I  have  in  my  power  ;  but  it  is  willingly  of- 
fered." 

Deep  and  submissive  was  the  re\erence  with 
which  the  Countess  Hameline  de  Croye,  so  was 
the  elder  lady  called,  received  the  obliging  offer 
of  the  Princess's  protection.  She  had  been  long 
the  inhabitant  of  courts,  was  mistress  of  the  man- 
ners which  are  there  acquired,  and  held  firmly 
the  established  rule  of  courtiers  of  all  ages,  who, 
although  their  usual  private  conversation  turns 
upon  the  vices  and  follies  of  their  patrons,  and 
on  the  injuries  and  neglSct  which  thev  them- 
selves have  sustained,  never  sufi.-r  sucn  hints 
to  drop  from  them  in  presence  of  the  Sovereign 


180  THE    HALL    OF    ROLAND. 

• 

or  those  of  his  family.  The  lady  was,  therefore, 
scandalised  to  the  last  degree  at  the  mistake  which 
had  induced  her  to  speak  so  indecorously  in  pre- 
sence of  the  daughter  of  Louis.  She  would  have 
exhausted  herself  in  expressing  regret  and  ma- 
king apologies,  had  she  not  been  put  to  silence 
and  restored  to  equanimity  by  the  Princess,  who 
requested,  in  the  most  gentle  manner,  yet  which, 
from  a  daughter  of  France,  had  the  weight  of  a 
command,  that  no  more  might  be  said  in  the  way 
either  of  excuse  or  of  explanation. 

The  princess  Joan  then  took  her  own  chair 
with  a  dignity  which  became  her,  and  compelled 
the  two  strangers  to  sit,  one  on  either  hand,  to 
which  the  younger  consented  with  unfeigned  and 
respectful  diffidence,  and  the  elder  with  an  af- 
fectation of  deep  humility  and  respect,  which 
was  intended  for  such.  They  spoke  together, 
but  in  such  a  low  tone,  that  the  sentinel  could 
not  overhear  their  discourse,  and  only  remarked, 
that  the  Princess  seemed  to  bestow  much  of  her 
regard  on  the  younger  and  more  interesting  lady; 
and  that  the  Countess  Hameline,  though  speaking 
a  great  deal  more,  attracted  less  of  the  Princess's 
attention  by  her  full  flow  of  conversation  and  com- 
pliment, than  did  her  kinswoman  by  her  brief  and 
modest  replies  to  what  was  addressed  to  her. 

The  conversation  of  the  ladies  had  not  lasted 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  when  the  door  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  hall  opened,  and  a  man  entered  shroud- 
ed in  a  riding  cloak.  Mindful  of  the  King's  in- 
junction, and  determined  not  to  be  a  second  time 
caught  slumbering,  Quentin  instantly  moved  to- 
wards the  intruder,  and,  interposing  between  him 
and  the  ladies,  requested  him  to  retire  instantly. 
l«  By  whose  command  ?"  said  the  stranger,  in 
a  tone  of  contemptuous  surprise. 

"  By  that  of  the  King.''  said  Quentin,  firmly, 
"which  I  am  placed  here  to  enforce.'' 

"  Not    against    Louis  of  Orleans,"   said    the 
Duke,  dropping  his  cloak. 


THE  HALL    OF    ROLAND.  181 

The  young  man  hesitated  a  moment ;  but  how 
enforce  his  orders  against  the  first  Prince  of  the 
blood,  about  to  be  allied,  as  the  report  now  gene- 
rally went,  with  the  King's  own  family  ? 

"  Your  Highness's  pleasure,"  he  said,  «c  is  too 
great  to  be  withstood  by  me.  I  trust  your  High- 
ness will  bear  me  witness  that  I  have  done  the 
duty  of  my  post,  so  far  as  your  will  permitted.1' 

"  Go  to — you  shall  have  no  blame,  young  sol- 
dier," said  Orleans  ;  and  passing  forwards,  paid 
his  compliments  to  the  Princess,  with  that  air  of 
constraint  which  always  marked  his  courtesy 
when  addressing  her. 

"  He  had  been  dining,"  he  said,  «*  with  Du- 
nois,  and  understanding  there  was  society  in  Ro- 
land's Gallery,  he  had  ventured  on  the  freedom 
of  adding  one  to  the  number." 

The  colour  which  mounted  into  the  pale  cheek 
of  the  unfortunate  Joan,  and  which  for  the  mo- 
ment spread  something  of  beauty  over  her  fea- 
tures, evinced  that  this  addition  to  the  company 
was  any  thing  but  indifferent  to  her.  She  hastened 
to  present  the  Prince  to  the  two  ladies  of  Croye, 
who  received  him  with  the  respect  due  to  his  emi- 
nent rank,  and  the  Princess,  pointing  to  a  chair, 
requested  him  to  join  their  conversation  party. 

The  Duke  declined  the  freedom  of  assuming 
a  seat  in  such  society  ;  but  taking  a  cushion  from 
one  of  the  settles,  he  laid  it  at  the  feet  of  the 
beautiful  young  Countess  of  Croye,  and  so  stat- 
ed himself,  that,  without  appearing  to  neglect  the 
Princess,  he  was  enabled  to  bestow  the  greater 
share  of  his  attention  on  her  beautiful  neighbour. 

At  first,  it  seemed  as  if  this  arrangement  rather 
pleased  than  offended  his  destined  bride.  She 
encouraged  the  Duke  in  his  gallantries  towards 
the  fair  stranger,  and  seemed  to  regard  them  as 
complimentarv  to  herself.  But  the  Duke  of  Or- 
leans, though  accustomed  to  subject  his  mind  to 
the  stern  yoke  of  his  uncle  when  in  the   King's 

Vol.  I— 16 


182  THE    HALL    Oi     ROLAND. 

presence,  had  enough  of  princely  nature  to   in- 
duce  him  to  follow  his  own  inclinations  when- 
ever that  restraint  was  withdrawn  ;  and  his  high 
rank  giving  him  a  right  to  overstep  the  ordinary 
ceremonies,  and  advance  at  once  to  familiarity, 
his  praises  of  the  Countess  Isabelle's  beauty  be- 
came  so  energetic,  and  flowed  with  such   unre- 
strained  freedom,  owing  perhaps  to  his  having 
drunk  a  little  more  wine  than  usual — for  Dunois 
was  no  enemy  to  the  worship  of  Bacchus — that  at 
length  he  seemed  almost  impassioned,  and  the  pre- 
sence of  the  Princess  appeared  well  nigh  forgotten. 
The  tone  of  compliment  which   he   indulged 
was  grateful  only  to  one  individual  in  the  circle  ; 
for  the  Countess  Hameline   already  anticipated 
the   dignity  of  an   alliance  with   the  first  Prince 
of  the  blood,  by  means  of  her  whose  birth,  beau- 
ty, and  large  possessions,  rendered  such  an  am- 
bitious consummation  by  no  means  impossible, 
even  in  the  eyes   of  a  less   sanguine   projector, 
could  the  views  of  Louis  XL  have  been  left  out 
of   the    calculation    of   chances.     The    younger 
Countess  listened  to  the  Duke's  gallantries  with 
anxiety  and  embarrassment,  and   ever  and  anon 
turned  an  entreating  look  towards  the  Princess, 
as  if  requesting  her  to  come  to  her  relief.     But 
the  wounded  feelings,  and  the  timidity,  of  Joan 
of  France,  rendered  her  incapable  of  an  efTort  to 
make  the  conversation  more  general;  and  at  length, 
excepting  a   few   interjectionai  civilities  of  the 
Lady  Hameline,  it  was  maintained  almost  exclu- 
sively by  the  Duke  himself,  though  at  the  expense 
of  the  younger  Countess  of  Croye,  whose  beauty 
formed   the  theme  of  his  high-flown   eloquence. 
Nor  must  I  forget  that  there  was  a  third  per- 
son, the   unregarded   sentinel,  who  saw  his   fair 
visions  melt  away  like   wax  before   the  sun,  as 
the    Duke  persevered   in  the   warm   tenor  of  his 
passionate  discourse.      At  length   the   Countess 
Isabelle  de  Croye  made  a  determined  effort  to 


rHF,   HALL   OF   ROLAND.  18J 

..ut  short  what  was  becoming  intolerably  dis- 
agreeable to  her,  especially  from  the  pain  to 
which  the  conduct  of  the  Duke  was  apparently 
subjecting  the  Princess. 

Addressing  the  latter,  she  said,  modestly,  but 
with  some  firmness,  that  the  first  boon  she  had 
to  claim  from  her  promised  protection  was, 
"  that  her  Highness  would  undertake  to  con- 
vince the  Duke  of  Orleans,  that  the  ladies  of 
Burgundy,  though  inferior  in  wit  and  manners 
to  those  of  France,  were  not  such  absolute  fools, 
as  to  be  pleased  with  no  other  conversation  than 
that  of  extravagant  compliment." 

"  I  grieve,  lady,"  said  the  Duke,  preventing 
the  Princess's  answer,  "that  you  will  satirize, 
in  the  same  sentence,  the  beauty  of  the  dames  of 
Burgundy,  and  the  sincerity  of  the  knights  ot 
France.  If  we  are  hasty  and  extravagant  in 
the  expression  of  our  admiration,  it  is  because 
we  love  as  we  fight,  without  letting  cold  deli- 
beration come  into  our  bosoms,  and  surrender 
to  the  fair  with  the  same  rapidity  with  which 
we  defeat  the  valiant.1' 

"The  beautv  of  our  countrywomen, '>  said  the 
voung  Countess,  with  more  of  reproof  than  she 
had  vet  ventured  to  use  towards  the  high-born 
suitor,  "  is  as  unfit  to  claim  such  triumphs,  as 
the  valour  of  the  men  of  Burgundy  is  incapable 
of  yielding  them." 

'•  I  respect  your  patriotism,  Countess,"  said 
the  Duke;  "  and  the  last  branch  of  your  theme 
shall  not  be  impugned  by  me,  till  a  Burgundian 
knight  shall  offer  to  sustain  it  with  lance  in  rest. 
But  lor  the  injustice  which  \  ou  have  done  to  the 
charms  which  your  land  produces,  I  appeal  from 
yourself  to  yourself. — Look  there,"  he  ^aid, 
pointing  to  a  large  mirror,  the  gift  of  the  Vene- 
tian republic,  and  then  of  the  highest  rarity  and 
\alue,  l«and  tell  me,  as  you  look,  what  is  the  heart 
that  can   resist   the   charms  there  represent- 


.184  THE  POLITICIAN. 

The  Princess,  unable  to  sustain  any  longer 
the  neglect  of  her  lover,  here  sunk  backwards  on 
her  chair,  with  a  sigh,  which  at  once  recalled 
the  Duke  from  the  land  of  romance,  and  induced 
the  Lady  Hameline  to  ask  whether  her  High- 
ness found  herself  ill. 

<4  A  sudden  pain  shot  through  my  forehead," 
said  the  Princess,  attempting  to  smile;  u  but  I 
will  be  presently  better." 

Her  increasing  paleness  contradicted  her 
words,  and  induced  the  Lady  Hameline  to  call 
for  assistance,  as  the  Princess  was  about  to  faint. 

The  Duke,  biting  his  lip,  and  cursing  the 
folly  which  could  not  keep  guard  over  his  tongue, 
ran  to  summon  the  Princess's  attendants,  who 
were  in  the  next  chamber,  and  when  they  came 
hastily,  with  the  usual  remedies,  he  could  not 
but,  as  a  cavalier  and  gentleman,  give  assistance 
to  support  and  to  recover  her.  His  voice,  ren- 
dered almost  tender  by  pity  and  self-reproach, 
was  the  most  powerful  means  of  recalling  her  to 
herself,  and  just  as  the  swoon  was  passing  away, 
the  King  himself  entered  the  apartment. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  POLITICIAN. 

This  is  a  lecturer  so  skill'd  in  policy, 
That  (no  disparagement  to  Satan's  cunning,) 
He  well  might  read  a  lesson  to  the  devil, 
And  teach  the  old  seducer  new  temptations. 

Old  Play. 

As  Louis  entered  the  Gallery,  he  bent  his 
brows  in  the  manner  we  have  formerly  described 
as  peculiar  to  him,  and  sent  from  under  his  ga- 
thered and  gloomy  eye-brows,  a  keen  look  on  all 
around  ;  in  darting  which,  as  Quentin  afterwards 


THE    POLITICIAN.  18:- 

declared,  his  eyes  seemed  to  turn  so  small,  so 
fierce,  and  so  piercing,  as  to  resemble  those  of 
an  aroused  adder  looking  through  the  bush  of 
heath  in  which  he  lies  coiled. 

When,  by  this  momentary  and  sharpened 
glance,  the  King  had  reconnoitred  the  cause  of  the 
bustle  which  was  in  the  apartment,  his  first  ad- 
dress  was  to  the  Duke  of  Orleans. 

"You  here,  my  fair  cousin  :"  he  said  ;— and 
turning  to  Quentin,  added,  sternly,  "  Had  you 
not  charge  ?** 

« Forgive  the  young  man,  Sire,"  said  the 
Duke  ;  «4  he  did  not  neglect  his  duty  ;  but  I  was 
informed  that  the  Princess  was  in  this  gallery.'7 

"  And  I  warrant  you  would  not  be  withstood 
when  you  came  hither  to  pay  your  court,'1  said 
the  King,  whose  detestable  hypocrisy  persisted 
in  representing  the  Duke  as  participating  in  a 
passion  which  was  felt  only  on  the  side  of  his  un- 
happy daughter  ;  "  and  it  is  thus  you  debauch 
the  sentinels  of  my  guard,  young  man  ? — But 
what  cannot  be  pardoned  to  a  gallant  who  lives 
par  amours  /" 

The  Duke  of  Orleans  raised  his  head,  as  if 
about  to  reply,  in  some  manner  which  might 
correct  the  opinion  conveyed  in  the  King's  ob- 
servation ;  but  the  instinctive  reverence,  not  to 
say  fear,  of  Louis,  in  which  he  had  been  bred 
from  childhood,  chained  up  his  voice. 

"And  Joan  hath  been  ill?"  said  the  King; 
"  but  do  not  be  grieved,  Louis  ;  it  will  soon  pass 
away;  lend  her  your  arm  to  her  apartment,  while 
I  will  conduct  these  strange  ladies  to  theirs." 

The  order  was  given  in  a  tone  which  amounted 
to  a  command,  and  Orleans  accordingly  made 
his  exit  with  the  Princess  at  one  extremity  of  the 
gallery,  while  the  King,  ungloving  his  right  hand, 
courteously  handed  the  Countess  Isabelle  and 
her  kinswoman  to  their  apartment,  which  opened 
from  the  other.  He  bowed  profoundlv  as  they 
16+ 


186  THE    POLITICIAN. 

entered,  and  remained  standing  on  the  threshold 
for  a  minute  after  they  had  disappeared  ;  then, 
with  great  composure,  shut  the  door  by  which 
they  had  retired,  and  turning  the  huge  key,  took 
it  from  the  lock,  and  put  it  into  his  girdle, — an 
appendage  which  gave  him  still  more  perfectly 
the  air  of  some  old  miser,  who  cannot  journey 
in  comfort  unless  he  bear  with  him  the  key  of 
his  treasure-chest. 

With  slow  and  pensive  pace,  and  eyes  fixed  on 
the  ground, Louis  now  paced  toward  QuentinDur- 
ward,who,expecting  his  share  of  the  royal  displea- 
sure, viewed  his  approach  with  no  little  anxiety. 

u  Thou  hast  done  wrong,"  said  the  King,  rais- 
ing his  eyes,  and  fixing  them  firmly  on  him  when 
he  had  come  within  a  yard  of  him, — "  thou  hast 
done  foul  wrong,  and  deservest  to  die. — Speak 
not  a  word  in  defence  ! — What  hadst  thou  to  do 
with  Dukes  or  Princesses  ? — what  with  any  thing 
but  my  order  ?" 

"  So  please  your  Majesty,"  said  the  young 
soldier,  "  what  could  I  do  V 

"  What  couldst  thou  do  when  thy  post  was 
forcibly  passed  ?"  answered  the  King,  scornfully. 
— « What  is  the  use  of  that  weapon  on  thy 
shoulder  ?•— .Thou  shouldst  have  levelled  thy 
piece,  and  if  the  presumptuous  rebel  did  not  re- 
tire on  the  instant,  he  should  have  died  within 
this  very  hall!  Go— pass  into  these  farther 
apartments.  In  the  first  thou  wilt  find  a  large 
staircase,  which  leads  to  the  inner  Bailley;  there 
thou  wilt  find  Oliver  Dain. — Send  him  to  me — 
do  thou  begone  to  thy  quarters — As  thou  dost 
value  thy  life,  be  not  so  loose  of  thy  tongue  as 
thou  hast  been  this  day  slack  of  thy  hand." 

Well  pleased  to  escape  so  easily,  yet  with  a 
soul  which  revolted  at  the  cold-blooded  cruelty 
which  the  King  seemed  to  require  from  him  in 
the  execution  of  his  duty,  Durward  took  the  road 
indicated,  hastened  down  stairs,  and  communi- 


THE    POLITICIAN.  I8f 

cated  the  royal  pleasure  to  Oliver,  who  was  wait- 
ing in  the  court  beneath.  The  wily  tonsor  bowed, 
sighed,  and  smiled,  as,  with  a  voice  even  softer 
than  ordinary,  he  wished  the  youth  a  good  even- 
ing ;  and  they  parted,  Quentin  to  his  quarters, 
and  Oliver  to  attend  the  King. 

In  this  place,  the  Memoirs  which  we  have 
chiefly  followed  in  compiling  this  true  history, 
were  unhappily  defective  ;  for,  founded  chiefly 
on  information  supplied  by  Quentin,  they  con- 
veyed no  information  concerning  the  dialogue 
which,  in  his  absence,  took  place  between  the 
King  and  his  secret  counsellor.  Fortunately,  the 
Library  of  Hautlieu  contained  a  manuscript  copy 
of  the  Chronique  Scandaleuse  of  Jean  de  Troyes, 
much  more  full  than  that  which  has  been  printed; 
to  which  are  added  several  curious  memoranda, 
which  we  incline  to  think  were  written  down  by 
Oliver  himself  after  the  death  of  his  master,  and 
before  he  had  the  happiness  to  be  rewarded  with 
the  halter  which  he  had  so  long  merited.  From 
this  we  have  been  able  to  extract  a  very  full  ac- 
count of  his  conversation  with  Louis  upon  the 
present  occasion,  which  throws  a  light  upon  the 
policy  of  that  prince,  which  we  might  otherwise 
have  sought  for  in  vain. 

When  the  favourite  attendant  entered  the 
Gallery  of  Roland,  he  found  the  King  pensively 
seated  upon  the  chair  which  his  daughter  had 
left  some  minutes  before.  Well  acquainted  with 
his  temper,  he  glided  on  with  his  noiseless  step 
until  he  had  just  crossed  the  line  of  the  King's 
sight,  so  as  to  make  him  aware  of  his  presence, 
then  shrank  modestly  backward  and  out  of  sight, 
until  he  should  be  summoned  to  speak  or  to  lis- 
ten. The  Monarch's  first  address  was  an  un- 
pleasant one: — l<So,  Oliver,  your  fine  schemes 
are  melting  like  snow  before  the  south  wind ! — 
I  pray  to  our  Lady  of  Embrun  that  they  resem- 
ble not  the  ice-heaps  of  which  the  Switzer  churls 


188  THE    POLITICIAN. 

tell  such  stones,  and  come  rushing  down  upon 
our  heads." 

"  I  have  heard  with  concern  that  all  is  not 
well,  Sire,"  answered  Oliver. 

"  Not  well  !"  exclaimed  the  King,  rising  and 
hastily  marching  up  and  down  the  gallery, — M  All 
is  ill,  man — and  as  ill  nearly  as  possible  ; — so 
much  for  thy  fond  romantic  advice,  that  I,  of  all 
men,  should  become  a  protector  of  distressed 
damsels  !  I  tell  thee  Burgundy  is  arming,  and  on 
the  eve  of  closing  an  alliance  with  England. 
And  Edward,  who  hath  his  hands  idle  at  home, 
will  pour  his  thousands  upon  us  through  that  un- 
happy gate  of  Calais.  Singly,  I  might  cajole  or 
defy  them  ;  but  united,  united — and  with  the  dis- 
content and  treachery  of  that  villain  Saint  Paul ! — 
All  thy  fault,  Oliver,  who  counselled  me  to  receive 
the  women,  and  to  use  the  services  of  that  damn- 
ed Bohemian  to  carry  messages  to  their  vassals." 

<*  My  lord,"  said  Oliver,  «  you  know  my  rea- 
sons. The  Countess's  domains  lie  between  the 
frontiers  of  Burgundy  and  Flanders — her  castle 
is  almost  impregnable — her  rights  over  neigh- 
bouring estates  are  such  as,  if  well  supported, 
cannot  but  give  much  annoyance  to  Burgundy, 
were  the  lady  but  wedded  to  one  who  should  be 
friendly  to  France." 

«'  It  is,  it  is  a  tempting  bait,"  said  the  King ; 
c«and  could  we  have  concealed  her  being  here, 
we  might  have  arranged  such  a  marriage  for 
this  rich  heiress. — But  that  cursed  Bohemian, 
how  could'st  thou  recommend  such  a  heathen 
hound  for  a  commission  which  required  trust?" 

"  Please  you,"  said  Oliver,  "to  remember,  it 
was  your  Grace's  self  who  trusted  him  too  far — 
much  farther  than  I  recommended.  He  would 
have  borne  a  letter  trustily  enough  to  the  Coun- 
tess's kinsman,  telling  him  to  hold  out  her  castle, 
and  promising  speedy  relief;  but  your  Highness 


THE    POLITICIAN.  189 

must  needs  put  his  prophetic  powers  to  the  test ; 
and  thus  he  became  possessed  of  secrets  which 
were  worth  betraying.'' 

"  I  am  ashamed,  I  am  ashamed," — said  Louis. 
*'  And  yet,  Oliver,  they  say  that  these  heathen 
people  are  descended  from  the  sage  Chaldeans, 
who  did  read  the  mysteries  of  the  stars  in  the 
plains  of  Shinar." 

Well  aware  that  his  master,  with  all  his  acute- 
ness  and  sagacity,  was  the  more  prone  to  be  de- 
ceived by  soothsayers,  astrologers,  diviners,  and 
all  that  race  of  pretenders  to  occult  science,  that 
he  conceived  himself  to  have  some  skill  in  these 
arts,  Oliver  dared  to  press  this  point  no  farther ; 
and  only  observed  that  the  Bohemian  had  been 
a  bad  prophet  on  his  own  account,  else  he  would 
have  avoided  returning  to  Tours,  and  saved  him- 
self from  the  gallows  he  had  merited. 

'«  It  often  happens  that  those  who  are  gifted 
with  prophetic  knowledge,"  answered  Louis, 
with  much  gravity,  "  have  not  the  power  of  fore- 
seeing those  events  in  which  they  themselves  are 
personally  interested.'' 

"  Under  your  Majesty's  favour,"  replied  the 
confidant,  "that  seems  as  if  a  man  could  not  see 
his  own  hand  by  means  of  the  candle  which  he 
holds,  and  which  shews  him  every  other  object 
in  the  apartment." 

"He  cannot  see  his  own  features  by  the  light 
which  shews  the  faces  of  others,''  replied  Louis  ; 
"and  that  is  the  more  faithful  illustration  of  the 
case.  — But  this  is  foreign  to  my  purpose  at  pre- 
sent. The  Bohemian  hath  had  his  reward,  and 
peace  be  with  him.— But  these  ladies,— Not  only 
does  Burgundy  threaten  us  with  war  for  harbour- 
ing them,  but  their  presence  is  like  to  interfere 
with  mv  projects  in  my  own  family.  My  simple 
cousin  of  Orleans  hath  seen  this  damsel,  and  I 
prophecy  that  the  sight  of  her  is  like  to   make 


190  THE  POLITICIAN. 

him  less  pliable  in  the  matter  of  his  alliance  with 
Joan." 

u  Your  Majesty,"  answered  the  counsellor, 
"  may  send  the  ladies  of  Croye  back  to  Burgun- 
dy, and  so  make  your  peace  with  the  Duke. 
Many  might  murmur  at  this  as  dishonourable  ; 
but  if  necessity  demands  the  sacrifice — " 

"If  profit  demanded  the  sacrifice,  Oliver,  the 
sacrifice  should  be  made  without  hesitation,''  an- 
swered the  King.  "I  am  an  old  experienced 
salmon,  and  use  not  to  gulp  the  angler's  hook  be- 
cause it  is  busked  up  with  a  feather  called  ho- 
nour. But  what  is  worse  than  a  lack  of  honour, 
there  were,  in  returning  those  ladies  to  Burgun- 
dy, a  forfeiture  of  those  views  of  advantage 
which  moved  us  to  give  them  an  asylum.  It 
were  heart-breaking  to  renounce  the  opportunity 
of  planting  a  friend  to  ourselves,  and  an  enemy 
to  Burgundy,  in  the  very  centre  of  his  domi- 
nions, and  so  near  to  the  discontented  cities  of 
Flanders.  Oliver,  I  cannot  relinquish  the  ad- 
vantages which  our  scheme  of  marrying  the 
maiden  to  a  friend  of  our  own  house  seems  to 
hold  out  to  us." 

"  Your  Majesty,"  said  Oliver,  after  a  moment's 
thought,  "  might  confer  her  hand  on  some  right 
trusty  friend,  who  would  take  all  blame  on  him- 
self and  serve  your  Majesty  secretly,  while  in 
public  you  might  disown  him." 

"  And  where  am  I  to  find  such  a  friend  ?" 
said  Louis.  <4  Were  I  to  bestow  her  upon  anv 
one  of  our  mutinous  and  i!l  ruled  nobles,  would 
it  not  be  rendering  him  independent  ?  and  hath 
it  not  been  my  policy  for  years  to  prevent  them 
from  becoming  so  ? — Dunois  indeed — him,  and 
him  only,  I  might  perchance  trust. — He  would 
fight  for  the  crown  of  France,  whatever  were  his 
condition.  But  honours  and  wealth  change  men's 
natures — Even  Dunois  I  will  not  trust," 


THE  POLITICIAN.  191 

"  Your  Majesty  may  find  others,"  said  Oliver^ 
in  his  smoothest  manner,  and  in  a  tone  more  in- 
sinuating than  that  which  he  usually  employed 
in  conversing  with  the  King,  who  permitted  him 
considerable  freedom  ;  »c  men  dependent  entirely 
on  your  own  grace  and  favour,  and  who  could 
no  more  exist  without  your  countenance  than 
without  sun  or  air — men  rather  of  head  than  of 
action — men  who " 

u  Men  who  resemble  thyself,  ha!"  said  King 
Louis. — *<  No,  Oliver,  by  my  faith  that  arrow 
was  rashly  shot. — What,  because  I  indulge  thee 
with  my  confidence,  and  let  thee  in  reward,  poll 
my  lieges  a  little  now  and  then,  doest  thou  think 
it  makes  thee  fit  to  be  the  husband  of  that  beau- 
tiful vision,  and  a  Count  of  the  highest  class  to 
the  boot  ?  thee — thee,  I  say,  low  born  and  lower- 
bred,  whose  wisdom  is  at  best  a  sort  of  cunning, 
and  whose  courage  is  more  than  doubtful  ?*' 

"  Your  Majesty  imputes  to  me  a  presumption 
of  which  I  am  not  guilty  ,'*  said  Oliver. 

"  lam  glad  to  hear  it,  man,'1  replied  the  King  ; 
u  and  truly,  I  hold  your  judgment  the  healthier 
that  you  disown  such  a  reverie.  But  methinks 
thy  speech  sounded  strangely  in  that  key. — Well, 
to  return. —  I  dare  not  wed  this  beauty  to  one  of 
my  subjects— -I  dare  not  return  her  to  Burgundy 
— I  dare  not  transmit  her  to  England,  or  to  Ger- 
many, where  she  is  likely  to  become  the  prize  of 
one  more  likely  to  unite  with  Burgundy  than 
with  France,  and  who  would  be  more  ready  to 
discourage  the  honest  malcontents  in  Ghent  and 
Liege,  than  to  yield  them  that  wholesome  coun- 
tenance which  might  always  find  Charles  the 
Hardy  enough  to  exercise  his  valour  on,  without 
stirring  from  his  own  domains — and  they  were 
in  so  ripe  a  humour  for  insurrection,  the  men  of 
Liege  in  especial,  that  they  alone,  well  heated 
and  supported,   would  find  my  fair  cousin  work 


192  1HE    POL1TIC1AJS. 

for  more  than  a  twelvemonth  ; — and  backed  by 
warlike  Count  of  Croye, — O  Oliver  !  the  plan  is 
too  hopeful  to  be  resigned  without  a  struggle. — 
Cannot  thy  fertile  brain  devise   some  scheme  ?" 

Oliver  paused  for  a  long  time — -then  at  last  re- 
plied, "  What  if  a  bridal  could  be  accomplished 
betwixt  Isabelle  of  Croye,  and  young  Adolphus, 
the  Duke  of  Gueldres  ?" 

"  What !"  said  the  King,  in  astonishment  ; 
"  sacrifice  her,  and  she,  too,  so  lovely  a  creature, 
to  the  furious  wretch  who  deposed,  imprisoned, 
and  has  often  threatened  to  murder,  his  own  fa- 
ther ! — No,  Oliver,  no — that  were  too  unuttera- 
bly cruel  even  for  you  and  me,  who  look  so  sted- 
fastly  to  our  excellent  end,  the  peace  and  the 
welfare  of  France,  and  respect  so  little  the  means 
by  which  it  is  attained.  Besides,  he  lies  distant 
from  us,  and  is  detested  by  the  people  of  Ghent 
and  Liege. — No,  no,  I  will  none  of  Adolphus  of 
Gueldres — think  on  some  one  else." 

««  My  invention  is  exhausted,  sire"  said  the 
counsellor  ;  "  I  can  remember  no  one  who,  as 
husband  to  the  Countess  of  Croye,  would  be 
likely  to  answer  your  Majesty's  views.  He  must 
unite  such  various  qualities — a  friend  to  your 
Majesty — an  enemy  to  Burgundy — of  policy 
enough  to  conciliate  the  Gauntois  and  Liegeois, 
and  of  valour  sufficient  to  defend  his  little  domi- 
nions against  the  power  of  Duke  Charles — Of  no- 
ble birth  besides — that  your  highness  insists  up- 
on ;  and  of  excellent  and  most  virtuous  charac- 
ter, to  the  boot  of  all." 

«l  Nay,  Oliver,"  said  the  King,  "  I  leaned  not 
so  much — that  is  vso  very  much  on  character  ;  but 
methinks  Isabelle's  bridegroom  should  be  some- 
thing less  publickly  and  generally  abhorred  than 
Adolphus  of  Gueldres. — For  example,  since  I 
myself  must  suggest  some  one, — Why  not  Wil- 
liam de  la  Marck  ?" 


THE  POLITICIAN.  £*3 

*v  On  my  halidome,  sire,"  said  Oliver,  "  lean- 
not  complain  of  your  demanding  too  high  a  stand- 
ard of  moral  excellence  in  the  happy  man,  if  the 
Wild  Boar  of  Ardennes  can  serve  your  turn. 
De  la  Marck  ! — why,  he  is  the  most  notorious 
robber  and  murderer  on  all  the  Frontiers — ex- 
communicated by  the  Pope  for  a  thousand 
crimes." 

"  We  will  have  him  relaxed,  friend  Oliver— 
Holy  Church  is  merciful." 

"  Almost  an  outlaw,"  continued  Oliver,  "  and 
under  the  ban  of  the  Empire,  by  an  ordinance 
of  the  Chamber  at  Ratisbon." 

"  We  will  have  the  ban  taken  off,  friend  Oli- 
ver," continued  the  King,  in  the  same  tone  ;  **  the 
Imperial  Chamber  will  hear  reason." 

"  And  admitting  him  to  be  of  noble  birth," 
said  Oliver,  u  he  hath  the  manners,  the  face,  and 
the  outward  form,  as  well  as  the  heart,  of  a  Flem- 
ish butcher — She  will  never  accept  of  him." 

"  His  mode  of  wooing,  if  I  mistake  him  not," 
said  Louis,  M  will  render  it  difficult  for  her  to 
make  a  choice." 

"  I  was  far  wrong  indeed,  when  I  taxed  your 
Majesty  with  being  over  scrupulous,"  said  the 
counsellor.  "  On  mv  life,  the  crimes  of  Adol- 
phus  are  but  virtues  to  those  of  De  la  Marck  ! 

And  then  hoiv  is  he  to  meet  with  his  bride  ? 

your   Majesty   knows   he   dares   not  stir  far 

from  his  own  Forest  of  Ardennes." 

"  That  must  be  cared  for,"  said  the  King  ; 
"  And,  in  the  first  place,  the  two  ladies  must  be 
acquainted  privatelv  that  they  can  be  no  longer 
maintained  at  this  'court,  excepting  at  the  ex- 
pense of  a  war  between  France  and  Burgundy, 
and  that,  unwilling  to  deliver  them  up  to  my 
fair  counsin  of  Burgundy,  I  am  desirous  they 
should  secretlv  depart  from  my  dominions. 

Vol.  I. — lir 


194  THE  POLITICIAN, 

44  They  will  demand  to  be  conveyed  to  Eng- 
land," said  Oliver  ;  fc4  and  we  will  have  her  re* 
turn  with  an  island  lord,  with  a  round  fair  face, 
long  brown  hair,  and  three  thousand  archers  at 
his  back." 

u  No — no,"  replied  the  King  ;  "  we  dare  not 
(you  understand  me)  so  far  offend  our  fair  cou- 
sin of  Burgundy  as  to  let  her  pass  to  England 
— It  would  bring  his  dipleasure  as  certainly  as 
our  maintaining  her  here.  No,  no — to  the  safe- 
ty of  the  Church  alone  we  will  venture  to  com- 
mit her  ;  and  the  utmost  we  can  do  is  to  con- 
nive at  the  ladies  Hameline  and  Isabelle  de 
Croye  departing  in  disguise,  and  with  a  small 
retinue,  to  take  refuge  with  the  Bishop  of  Liege, 
who  will  place  the  fair  Isabelle,  for  the  time, 
under  the  safeguard  of  a  convent." 

*l  And  if  that  convent  protect  her  from  Wil- 
liam de  la  Marck,  when  he  knows  of  your  Ma- 
jesty's favourable  intentions,  I  have  mistaken 
the  man." 

"  Why,  yes,"  answered  the  King,  u  thanks  to 
our  secret  supplies  of  money,  De  la  Marck  hath 
together  a  handsome  handful  of  as  unscrupulous 
soldiery  as  ever  were  outlawed  ;  with  which  he 
contrives  to  maintain  himself  among  the  woods, 
in  such  a  condition  as  makes  him  formidable 
both  to  the  Duke  and  Bishop  of  Liege.  He 
lacks  nothing  but  some  territory  which  he  may 
call  his  own,  and  this  being  so  fair  an  opportu- 
nity to  establish  himself  by  marriage,  I  think 
that,  Pasques-dieu  !  he  will  find  means  to  win 
and  wed,  without  more  than  a  hint  on  our  part. 
The  Duke  of  Burgundy  will  then  have  such  a 
thorn  in  his  side,  as  no  lancet  of  our  time  will 
easily  cut  out  from  him.  The  Boar  of  Arden- 
nes, whom  he  has  already  outlawed,  strengthen- 
ed by  the  possession  of  that  fair  lady's  lands, 


THE  POLITICIAN.  195 

castles,  and  seignorie,  with  the  discontented 
Liegeois  to  boot,  who,  by  my  faith,  will  not  be 
in  that  case  unwilling  to  choose  him  for  their 
captain  and  leader — let  him  then  think  of  wars 
with  France  when  he  will,  or  rather  let  him 
bless  his  stars  if  she  war  not  with  him. — How 
dost  like  the  scheme,  Oliver,  ha?" 

u  Rarelv,"  said  Oliver,  M  save  and  except  the 
doom  which  confers  that  lady  on  the  Wild  Boar 
of  Ardennes. — By  my  halidome,  saving  in  a  lit- 
tle outward  shew  of  gallantry,  Tristan,  the  Pro- 
vost-Marshal, were  the  more  proper  bridegroom 
of  the  two." 

u  Anon  thou  didst  propose  Master  Oliver  the 
barber,"  said  Louis ;  "  but  friend  Oliver  and 
gossip  Tristan,  excellent  men  in  the  way  of  coun- 
sel and  execution,  are  not  the  stuff  that  men  make 
Counts  of.  Know  you  not  that  the  burghers  of 
Flanders  value  birth  in  other  men,  precisely  be- 
cause they  want  it  themselves  ? — A  plebian  mob 
ever  desire  an  aristocratic  leader.  Yonder  Ked, 
or  Cade,  or — how  called  they  him  f — in  Engiana, 
was  fain  to  lure  his  rascal  route  after  him,  by  pre- 
tending to  the  blood  of  the  Mortimers.  William 
de  la  Marck  comes  of  the  blood  of  the  princes  of 
Sedan — And  now  to  business.  I  must  deter- 
mine the  ladies  of  Croye  to  a  speedy  and  secret 
flight,  under  sure  guidance.  This  will  be  easily 
done — we  have  but  to  hint  the  alternative  of  sur- 
rendering them  to  Burgundy.  Thou  must  find 
means  to  let  William  De  la  Marck  know  of  their 
motions,  and  let  him  choose  his  own  time  and 
place  to  push  his  suit.  I  know  a  fit  person  to 
travel  with  them." 

"  May  I  ask  to  whom  your  Majesty  commits 
such  an  important  charge  ?"  asked  the  tonsor. 

M  To  a  foreigner,  be  sure,"  replied  the  King; 
M  one  who  has  neither  kin  nor  interest  in  France, 


196  THE  POLITICIAN, 

to  interfere  with  the  execution  of  my  pleasure 
and  who  knows  too  little  of  the  country  and  its 
factions,  to  suspect  more  of  my  purpose  than  I 
chuse  to  tell  him — In  a  word,  I  design  to  em- 
ploy the  young  Scot  who  sent  you  hither  but 
now." 

Oliver  paused  in  a  manner  which  seemed  to 
imply  a  doubt  of  the  prudence  of  the  choice,  and 
then  added,  "  Your  Majesty  has  reposed  confi- 
dence in  that  stranger  boy  earlier  than  is  your 
wont." 

"  I  have  my  reasons,"  answered  the  King. — - 
u  Thou  knowest  (and  he  crossed  himself)  my 
devotion  for  the  blessed  Saint  Julian.  I  had  been 
saying  my  orisons  to  that  holy  saint  late  in  the 
night  before  last,  and  I  made  it  my  humble  pe- 
tition that  he  would  augment  my  househould 
with  such  wandering  foreigners,  as  might  best 
establish  throughout  our  kingdom  unlimited  de- 
votion to  our  will ;  and  I  vowed  to  the  good 
Saint  in  guerdon,,  that  I  would,  in  his  name,  re- 
CtlVc,  ana  relieve,  and  maintain  them." 

"  And  did  Saint  Julian,"  said  Oliver,  M  send 
your  Majesty  this  long-legged  importation  from 
Scotland  in  answer  to  your  prayers  ?" 

Although  the  barber,  who  well  knew  that  his 
master  had  superstition  in  a  large  proportion  to 
his  want  of  religion,  and  that  on  such  topics  no- 
thing was  more  easy  than  to  offend  him- — al- 
though, I  sav,  he  knew  the  royal  weakness,  and 
therefore  carefully  put  the  preceding  question  in 
the  softest  and  most  simple  tone  of  voice,  Louis 
felt  the  inuendo  which  it  contained,  and  regard- 
ed the  speaker  with  high  displeasure. 

"  Sirrah,"  he  said,  "  thou  art  well  called  Oli- 
ver the  Devil,  who  dares  thus  to  sport  at  once 
with  thy  master  and  with  the  blessed  Saints.  I 
tell  thee,  wert  thou  a  grain  less  necessary  to  me 


THE  POLITICIAN.  197 

I  would  have  thee  hung  up  on  yonder  oak  before 
the  Castle,  as  an  example  to  all  who  scoff  at 
things  holy ! — Know,  thou  infidel  slave,  that  mine 
eyes  were  no  sooner  closed,  than  the  blessed 
Saint  Julian  was  visible  to  me,  leading  a  young 
man,  whom  he  presented  to  me,  saying,  that  his 
fortune  should  be  to  escape  the  sword,  the  cord, 
the  river,  and  to  bring  good  fortune  to  the  side 
which  he  should  espouse,  and  to  the  adventures 
in  which  he  should  be  engaged.  I  walked  out 
on  the  succeeding  morning,  and  I  met  with  this 
youth.  In  his  own  country  he  hath  escaped  the 
sword,  amid  the  massacre  of  his  whole  fam- 
ily, and  here,  within  the  brief  compass  of  two 
days,  he  hath  been  strangly  rescued  from  drown- 
ing and  from  the  gallows,  and  hath  already,  on 
a  particular  occasion,  as  I  but  lately  hinted  to 
thee,  been  of  the  most  material  service  to  me.  I 
receive  him  as  sent  hither  by  Saint  Julian,  to 
serve  me  in  the  most  difficult,  the  most  danger- 
ous, and  even  the  most  desperate  services." 

The  King,  as  he  thus  expressed  himself,  doff- 
ed his  hat,  and  selecting  from  the  numerous  lit- 
tle leaden  figures  with  which  the  hat-band  was 
garnished  that  which  represented  Saint  Julian, 
he  placed  it  on  the  table,  as  was  often  his  wont 
when  some  peculiar  feeling  of  hope,  or  perhaps 
of  remorse,  happened  to  thrill  across  his  mind, 
and,  kneeling  down  before  it,  muttered,  with  an 
appearance  of  profound  devotion,  "  Sancte  Ju~ 
Hane,  adsis  preeibus  nostris  I  Or  a,  or  a,  pro  no- 
bis r 

This  was  one  of  those  ague-fits  of  supersti~ 
tioua  devotion,  which  often  seized  on  Louis  in 
such  extraordinary  times  and  places,  that  they 
gave  one  of  the  most  sagacious  Monarchs  who 
ever  reigned,  the  appearance  of  a  mad  man,  or 
17* 


198  E#E  POLl 

at  least  of  one  whose  mind  was  shaken  by  some 
deep  consciousness  of  guilt. 

While  he  was  thus  employed,  his  favourite 
looked  at  him  with  an  expression  of  sarcastic 
contempt,  which  he  scarce  attempted  to  dis- 
guise. Indeed  it  was  one  of  this  man's  peculi- 
arities, that  in  his  whole  intercourse  with  his 
master,  he  laid  aside  that  fondling,  purring  affec- 
tation of  officiousness  and  humility,  which  dis- 
tinguished his  conduct  to  others  ;  and  if  he  still 
bore  some  resemblance  to  a  cat,  it  was  when  the 
animal  is  on  its  guard, — watchful,  animated, 
and  alert  for  sudden  exertion.  The  cause  of 
this  change  was  probably  Oliver's  consciousness, 
that  his  master  was  himself  too  profound  a  hy- 
pocrite not  to  see  through  the  hypocrisy  of 
others. 

u  The  features  of  this  youth,  then,  if  I  may 
presume  to  speak,"  said  Oliver,  "  resemble  those 
of  him  whom  your  dream  exhibited  IV 

M  Closely  and  intimately,"  said  the  King, 
whose  imagination,  like  that  of  superstitious 
people  in  general,  readily  imposed  upon  itself — 
"  I  have  had  his  horoscope  cast,  besides,  by 
Galeotti  Martivalle,  and  I  have  plainly  learned, 
through  his  art  and  mine  own  observation,  that, 
in  many  respects,  this  unfriended  youth  hath  his 
destiny  under  the  same  constellation  with  mine." 

Whatever  Oliver  might  think  of  the  causes 
thus  boldly  assigned  for  the  preference  of  an  in- 
experienced stripling,  he  dared  make  no  farther 
objections,  well  knowing  that  Louis,  who,  while 
residing  in  exile,  had  bestowed  much  of  his  at- 
tention on  the  supposed  science  of  astrologv. 
would  listen  to  no  raillery  of  anv  kind  which  im- 
peached his  skill.  He  'therefore  only  replied, 
that  he  trusted  the  youth  would  prove  faithful  in 
trie  discharge  of  a  task  so  delicate. 


T«E  POLITICIAN.  19b 

u  We  will  take  care  he  hath  no  opportunity 
ro  be  otherwise,"  said  Louis;  "  for  he  shall  be 
privy  to  nothing,  save  that  he  is  sent  to  escort 
the  Ladies  of  Croye  to  the  residence  of  the 
Bishop  of  Liege.  Of  the  probable  interference 
of  William  de  la  Marck,  he  shall  know  as  little 
as  they  themselves.  None  shall  know  that  se- 
cret, saving  the  guide  ;  and  Tristan  or  thou 
must  find  one  fit  for  our  purpose." 

"  But  in  that  case,"  said  Oliver,  "judging 
of  him  from  his  country  and  his  appearance,  the 
young  man  is  like  to  stand  to  his  arms  so  soon 
us  the  Wild  Boar  comes  on  them,  and  may  not 
come  off  so  easily  from  the  tusks  as  he  did  this 
morning." 

44  If  they  rend  his  heart-strings,"  said  Louis, 
composedly,  u  Saint  Julian,  blessed  be  his  name, 
can  send  me  another  in  his  stead.  It  skills  as 
little  that  the  messenger  is  slain  after  his  duty  is 
executed,  as  that  the  flask  is  broken  when  the 
wine  is  drunk  out.  Meanwhile,  we  must  expe- 
dite the  ladies'  departure,  and  then  persuade  the 
Count  de  Crevecoeur  that  it  has  taken  place  with- 
out our  connivance,  we  having  been  desirous  to 
restore  them  to  the  custody  of  our  fair  cousin  ; 
which  their  sudden  departure  has  unhappily  pre- 
vented." 

M  The  Count,  is  perhaps  too  wise,  and  his  mas- 
ter too  prejudiced,  to  believe  it." 

"  Holy  Mother!''  said  Louis,  "  what  unbelief 
would  that  be  in  Christian  men  !  But,  Oliver, 
they  shall  believe  us.  We  will  throw  into  our 
whole  conduct  towards  our  fair  cousin,  Duke 
Charles,  such  thorough  and  unlimited  confidence, 
that,  not  to  believe  we  have  been  sincere  with 
him  in  every  respect,  he  must  be  worse  than  an 
infidel.  I  tell  thee,  so  convinced  am  I  that  I 
could  make  Charles  of  Burgundy  think  of  me  in. 


200  THE  POLITICIAN. 

every  respect  as  I  would  have  him,  that,  were  it 
necessary  for  silencing  his  doubts,  I  would  ride 
unarmed,  and  on  a  palfrey,  to  visit  him  in  his 
tent,  with  no  better  guard  about  me  than  thine 
own  simple  person,  friend  Oliver." 

"  And  I,"  said  Oliver,  "  though  I  pique  not 
myself  upon  managing  steel  in  any  other  shape 
than  that  of  a  razor,  would  rather  charge  a  Swiss 
battalion  of  pikes,  than  I  would  accompany  your 
Highness  upon  such  a  visit  of  friendship  to 
Charles  of  Burgundy,  when  he  hath  so  many 
grounds  to  be  well  assured  that  there  is  enmity 
in  your  Majesty's  bosom  against  him," 

M  Thou  art  a  fool,  Oliver,"  said  the  King — 
u  and  that  with  all  thy  pretensions  to  wisdom — 
and  art  not  aware  that  deep  policy  must  often 
assume  the  appearance  of  the  most  extreme  sim- 
plicity, as  courage  occasionallv  shrouds  itself 
under  the  show  of  modest  timidity.  Were  it 
needful,  full  surely  would  I  do  what  I  have  said 
— the  Saints  always  blessing  our  purpose,  and 
the  heavenly  constellations  bringing  round,  in 
their  course,  a  proper  conjuncture  for  such  an> 
exploit." 

In  these  words  did  King  Louis  XI.  give  the 
first  hint  of  the  extraordinary  resolution  which 
he  afterwards  adopted,  of  duping  his  great  rivaly 
that  had  very  nearly  proved  his  own  ruin. 

He  parted  with  his  counseller,  and  presently 
afterwards  went  to  the  apartment  of  the  Ladies 
of  Croye.  Few  persuasions  beyond  his  mere  li- 
cence would  have  been  necessary  to  determine 
their  retreat  from  the  Court  of  France,  upon  the 
first  hint  that  they  might  not  be  eventually  pro- 
tected against  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  ;  but  it  was 
not  so  easy  to  induce  them  to  chuse  Liege  for  the 
place  of  their  retreat.  They  entreated  and  re- 
quested to  be  transferred  to  Bretagne  or  Calaisr 


THB  POLITICIAN.  201 

where,  under  protection  of  the  Duke  of  Bretagne, 
or  King  of  England,  they  might  remain  in  a  state 
of  safety,  until  the  Sovereign  of  Burgundy  should 
relent  in  his  rigorous  purpose  towards  them.  But 
neither  of  these  places  of  safety  at  all  suited  the 
plans  of  Louis,  and  he  was  at  last  successful  in 
inducing  them  to  adopt  that  which  did  coincide 
with  them. 

The  power  of  the  Bishop  of  Liege  for  their 
defence  was  not  to  be  questioned,  since  his  eccie- 
siastical  dignitv  gave  him  the  means  of  protecting 
the  fugitives  against  all  Christian  princes  ;  while, 
on  the  other  hand,  his  secular  forces,  if  not  nu- 
merous, were  at  least  sufficient  to  defend  his  per- 
son, and  all  under  his  protection  from  any  sudden 
violence.  The  difficulty  was  to  reach  the  little 
Court  of  the  Bishop  in  safety  ;  but  for  this  Louis 
promised  to  provide,  by  spreading  a  report  that 
the  Ladies  of  Croye  had  escaped  from  Tours  by 
night,  under  fear  of  being  delivered  up  to  the 
Burgundian  Envoy,' and  had  taken  their  flight 
towards  Bretagne.  He  also  promised  them  the 
attendance  of  a  small,  but  faithful  retinue,  and 
letters  to  the  commanders  of  such  towns  and  for- 
tresses as  they  might  pass,  with  instructions  to 
use  every  means  for  protecting  and  assisting  them 
in  their  journey. 

The  Ladies  of  Croye,  although  internally  re- 
senting the  ungenerous  and  discourteous  manner 
in  which  Louis  thus  deprived  them  of  the  pro- 
mised asylum  in  his  Court,  were  so  far  from  ob- 
jecting to  the  hasty  departure  which  he  proposed,, 
that  they  even  anticipated  his  project,  by  entreat- 
ing to  be  permitted  to  set  forward  that  same  night. 
The  Lady  Hameline  was  already  tired  of  a  place 
where  there  were  neither  admiring  courtiers,  nor 
festivities  to  be  witnessed  ;  and  the  Lady  Isabelle 
thought  she  had  seen  enough  to  conclude,  that 


202  THE  POLITICIAN. 

were  the  temptation  to  become  a  little  stronger, 
Louis  XL,  not  satisfied  with  expelling  them  from 
his  Court,  would  not  hesitate  to  deliver  her  up 
to  her  irritated  Suzerain,  the  Duke  of  Burgundy. 
Lastly,  Louis  himself  readily  acquiesced  in  their 
hasty  departure,  anxious  to  preserve  peace  with 
Duke  Charles,  and  alarmed  lest  the  beauty  of 
Isabelle  should  interfere  with  and  impede  the 
favourite  plan  which  he  had  formed,  for  bestow- 
ing the  hand  of  his  daughter  Joan  upon  his  cou«" 
sin  of  Orleans. 


t  203  j 


CHAPTER  III. 

TIIE    JOURNEY. 

Talk  not  of  Kings — I  scorn  the  poor  comparison  , 
I  am  a  Sage,  and  can  command  the  elements— 
At  least  men  think  I  can  ;  and  on  that  thought 
I  found  unbounded  empire. 

Albufnazar. 

Occupation  and  adventure  might  be  said  to 
crowd  upon  the  young  Scotchman  with  the  force 
of  a  spring-tide,  for  he  was  speedily  summoned  to 
the  apartment  of  his  Captain,  the  Lord  Crawford, 
where,  to  his  astonishment,  he  again  beheld  the 
King.    After  a  few  words  respecting  the  honour 
and  trust  which  were  about  to  be  reposed  in  him., 
which  made  Quentin  internally  afraid  that  they 
were  again  about  to  propose  to  him  such  a  watch 
as  he  had  kept  upon  the  Count  of  Crevecceur,  or 
perhaps  some  duty  still  more  repugnant  to  his 
feelings,  he  was  not  relieved  merely,  but  delight- 
ed, with  hearing  that  he  was  selected,  with  the  as- 
sistance of  four  others  under  his  command,  one 
of  whom  was  a  guide,  to  escort  the  Ladies  of  Croye 
to  the  little  Court  of  their  relative,  the  Bishop  of 
Liege,  in  the  safest  and  most  commodious,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  in  the  most  secret  manner  pos- 
sible. A  scroll  was  given  him,  in  which  were  set 
down  directions  for  his  guidance  for  the  places 
of  halt,  (generally  chosen  in  villages,  monasteries, 
and  places  remote  from  towns,)  and  for  the  ge- 
neral precautions  which  he  was  to  attend  to,  es- 
pecially on  approaching  the  frontier  of  Burgundy. 
He  was  sufficiently   supplied  with  instructions 


204  ltfE    jOURNE\i 

what  he  ought  to  say  and  do  to  sustain  the  per- 
sonage of  the  Maitre  d'Hotel  of  two  English 
ladies  of  rank,  who  had  been  on  a  pilgrimage 
to  Saint  Martin  of  Tours,  and  were  to  visit  the 
holy  city  of  Cologne,  and  worship  thereliques  of 
the  sage  Eastern  Monarchs,  who  came  to  adore 
the  nativity  of  Bethlehem  ;  for  under  that  cha- 
racter the  Ladies  of  Croye  were  to  journey. 

Without  having  any  defined  notions  of  the 
cause  of  his  delight,  Quentin  Durward's  heart 
leapt  for  joy  at  the  idea  of  approaching  thus 
nearly  to  the  person  of  the  beauty  of  the  turret, 
and  in  a  situation  which  entitled  him  to  her  con- 
fidence, since  her  protection  was  in  so  great  a 
degree  enstructed  to  his  conduct  and  courage. 
He  felt  no  doubt  in  his  own  mind  that  he  should 
be  her  successful  guide  through  the  hazards  of 
her  pilgrimage.  Youth  seldom  thinks  of  dan- 
gers, and  bred  up  free,  and  fearless,  and  self- 
confident,  Quentin,  in  particular,  only  thought  of 
them  to  defy  them.  He  longed  to  be  exempted 
from  the  restraint  of  the  Royal  presence,  that  he 
might  indulge  the  secret  glee  with  which  such 
unexpected  tidings  filled  him,  and  which  prompt- 
ed hi  n  to  bursts  of  delight  which  would  have 
been  totally  unfitting  for  that  society. 

But  Louis  had  not  yet  done  with  him.  That 
cautious  Monarch  had  to  consult  a  counsellor  of 
a  different  stamp  from  Oliver  le  Diable,  and  who 
was  supposed  to  derive  his  skill  from  the  supe- 
rior and  astral  intelligences,  as  men,  judging  from 
their  fruits,  were  apt  to  think  the  counsels  of 
Oliver  sprung  from  the  Devil  himself. 

Louis  therefore  led  the  way,  followed  by  the 
impatient  Quentin,  to  a  separate  tower  of  the 
Castle  of  Plessis,  in  which  was  installed,  in 
no  small  ease  and  splendour,  the  celebrated  as- 
trologer, poet,  and  philosopher,  Galeotti  Marti  or 


THE  JOURNEY,  205 

Martins,  or  Martivalle,  a  native  of  Narni,  in 
Italy,  the  author  of  the  famous  Treatise.  De 
Vulgo  Incognitis*  and  the  subject  of  his  age's 
admiration,  and  of  the  panegyrics  of  Paulus 
Jovius.  He  had  long  flourished  at  the  court  of 
the  celebrated  Matthias  Corvinus,  King  of  Hun- 
gary, from  whom  he  was  in  some  measure  de- 
coyed by  Louis,  who  grudged  the  Hungarian  mo- 
narch the  society  and  the  counsels  of  a  sage,  ac- 
counted so  skilful  in  reading  the  decrees  of  Hea- 
ven. 

Martivalle  was  none  of  those  ascetic,  withered 
pale  professors  of  mystic  learning,  who  bleared 
their  eyes  over  the  midnight  furnace,  and  mace- 
rated their  bodies  by  outwatching  the  polar  bear. 
He  indulged  in  all  courtly  pleasures,  and,  until 
he  grew  corpulent,  had  excelled  in  all  martial 
sports  and  gymnastic  exercises,  as  well  as  in  the 
use  of  arms  ;  insomuch,  that  Janus  Pannonius  has 
left  a  Latin  epigram,  upon  a  wrestling  match 
betwixt  Galeotti  and  a  renowned  champion  of 
that  art,  in  the  presence  of  the  Hungarian  King 
and  Court,  in  which  the  Astrologer  was  com- 
pletely victorious. 

The  apartments  of  this  courtly  and  martial 
sage  were  far  more  splendidly  furnished  than  any 
which  Quentin  had  yet  seen  in  the  royal  palace, 
and  the  carving  and  ornamented  wood-work  of 
his  library,  as  well  as  the  magnificence  displayed 
in  the  tapestries,  shewed  the  elegant  taste  of  the 
learned  Italian.  Out  of  his  study  one  door 
opened  to  his  sleeping  apartment,  another  led  to 
the  turret  which  served  as  his  observatory.  A 
large  oaken  table,  in  the  midst  of  the  apartment* 
was  covered  with  a  rich  Turkey  carpet,  the  spoils 
of  the  tent  of  a  Pacha   after  the  great  battle  of 

♦Concerning  things  unknown  to  the  generality  of  man- 
kind. 

Vol.  I 18 


206  THE   JOURNEY. 

Jaiza,  where  the  Astrologer  had  fought  abreast 
with  the  valiant  champion  of  Christendom,  Mat- 
thias Corvinus.  On  the  table  lay  a  variety  of 
mathematical  and  astrological  instruments,  all  of 
the  most  rich  materials  and  curious  workmanship. 
His  astrolabe  of  silver  was  the  gift  of  the  Em- 
peror of  Germany,  and  his  Jacob's  staff  of  ebony, 
jointed  with  gold,  and  curiously  inlaid,  was  a 
mark  of  esteem  from  the  reigning  Pope. 

There  were  various  other  miscellaneous  ar- 
ticles disposed  on  the  table,  or  hanging  around 
the  walls  ;  amongst  others,  two  complete  suits  of 
armour,  one  of  mail,  the  other  of  plate,  both  of 
which,  from  their  great  size,  seemed  to  call  the 
gigantic  Astrologer  their  owner  :  a  Spanish  to- 
ledo,  a  Scottish  broad-sword,  a  Turkish  scymitar, 
with  bows,  quivers,  and  other  warlike  weapons  ; 
musical  instruments  of  several  different  kinds  ;  a 
silver  crucifix,  a  sepulchral  antique  vase,  and  se- 
veral of  the  little  brazen  Penates  of  the  ancient 
heathens,  with  other  curious  non-descript  articles, 
some  of  which,  in  the  superstitious  opinions  of 
that  period,  seemed  to  be  designed  for  magical 
purposes.  The  library  of  this  singular  character 
was  of  the  same  miscellaneous  description  with 
his  other  effects.  Curious  manuscripts  of  classi- 
cal antiquity  lay  mingled  with  the  voluminous 
labours  of  Christian  divines,  and  of  those  pains- 
taking sages  who  professed  the  chemical  science, 
and  proffered  to  guide  their  students  into  the  most 
secret  recesses  of  nature,  by  means  of  the  Her- 
metical  Philosophy.  Some  were  written  in  the 
eastern  character,  and  others  concealed  their  sense 
or  nonsense  under  the  veil  of  hieroglyphics  and 
cabalistic  characters.  The  whole  apartment,  and 
its  furniture  of  every  kind,  formed  a  scene  very 
impressive  on  tfee  fancy,  considering  the  gen  eral 
belief  then  indisputably  entertained,  concerning 


THE  JOURNEY.  207 

the  truth  of  the  occult  sciences ;  and  that  effect 
was  increased  b\-  the  manners  and  appearance  of 
the  individual  himself,  who,  seated  in  a  huge 
chair,  was  employed  in  curiously  examining  a 
specimen,  just  issued  from  the  Frankfort  press, 
of  the  newly  invented  art  of  printing. 

Galeotti   Martivalle     was    a  tall,    bulky,  yet 
stately    man,    considerably  past    his  prime,  and 
whose    youthful   habits  of  exercise,  though  still 
occasionally  resumed,  had  not  been  able  to  con- 
tend   with    a  natural    tendency    to    corpulence, 
increased  by  sedentry  study,    and  indulgence  in 
the  pleasures  of  the  table.     His  features,  though 
rather  overgrown,  were  dignified  and  noble,  and 
a  Santon  might  have  envied  the  dark  and  down- 
ward sweep  of  his  long-descending  beard.     His 
dress  was  a  chamber-robe  of  the  richest  Genoa 
velvet,  with  ample  sleeves,  clasped  with  frogs  of 
gold,  and  lined  with  sables.     It  was   fastened 
round  his  middle  by  a  broad  belt  of  virgin  parch- 
ment, round  which  were  represented,  in  crimson 
characters,  the  signs  of  the  Zodiac.     He  rose  and 
bowed  to  the  King,  yet  with  the  air    of  one  to 
whom  such  exalted  society  was  familiar,  and  who 
was  not  at   all  likely  to   compromise  the  dignity 
then  especially  affected  by  the  pursuers  of  science. 
"  You  are    engaged,  father,1'    said  the  King, 
a  and,  as  I  think,  with  this  new-fashioned  art  of 
multiplying   manuscripts,  by  the  intervention  of 
machinery.     Can  things  of  such  mechanical  and 
terrestrial  import  interest  the  thoughts  of  one, 
before  whom  heaven  has  enrolled  her  own  celes- 
ual  volumes?" 

"My  brother,"  replied  Martivalle, — ufor  so  the 
tenant  of  this  cell  must  term  even  the  King  of 
France,  when  he  deigns  to  visit  him  as  a  dis- 
ciple,— believe  me  that,  in  considering  the  conse- 
quences of  this  invention,   I  read  with  a  certain 


208  THE  JOURNEY. 

augury,  as  by  any  combination  of  the  heavenly 
bodies,  the  most  awful  and  portentuous  changes. 
When  I  reflect  with  what  slow  and  limited  sup- 
plies the  stream  of  science  hath  hitherto  descend- 
ed to  us  ;  how  difficult  to  be  obtained  by  those  most 
ardent  in  its  search  how  certain  to  be  neglected 
by  all  who  regard  their  ease  j  how  liable  to  be 
diverted,  or  altogether  dried  up,  by  the  invasions 
of  barbarism  ;  can  I  look  forward  without  won- 
der and  astonishment,  to  the  lot  of  a  succeeding 
generation,  on  whom  knowledge  will  descend  like 
the  first  and  second  rain,  uninterrupted,  unabat- 
ed, unbounded,  fertilizing  some  grounds,  and 
overflowing  others  ;  changing  the  whole  form  of 
social  life  ;  establishing  and  overthrowing  reli- 
gions ;  erecting  and  destroying  kingdoms  " 

"  Hold,  Galeotti,"  said  Louis, — "  shall  these 
changes  come  in  our  time  ?" 

"  No,  my  brother,"  replied  Martiville  ;  "  this 
invention  may  be  likened  to  a  young  tree,  which 
is  now  newly  planted,  but  shall,  in  succeeding 
generations,  bear  fruit  as  fatal,  yet  as  precious,  as 
that  of  the  Garden  of  Eden,  the  knowledge, 
namely,  of  good  and  evil." 

Louis  answered,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
"  Let  futurity  look  to  what  concerns  them — we 
are  men  of  this  age,  and  to  this  age  we  will  con- 
fine our  care.  Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil 
thereof. — Tell  me,  hast  thou  proceeded  farther 
in  the  horoscope  which  I  sent  to  thee,  and  of 
which  you  made  me  some  report  ?  I  have  brought 
the  party  hither,  that  you  may  use  palmistry, 
or  chiromancy,  if  such  is  your  pleasure,  The 
matter  is  pressing.'' 

The  bulky  sage  arose  from  his  seat,  and,  ap- 
proaching the  young  soldier,  fixed  on  him  his 
keen  large  dark  eyes,  as  if  he  were  in  the  act  of 
internally    spelling  and  dissecting  every    linea- 


THE  JOURNEY.  209 

merit  and  feature — Blushing  and  borne  down 
by  this  close  examination  on  the  part  of  one 
whose  expression  was  so  reverential  at  once  and 
commanding,  Quentin  bent  his  eyes  on  the 
ground,  and  did  not  again  raise  them,  till  in  the 
act  of  obeying  the  sonorous  command  of  the  As- 
trologer, "  Look  up  and  be  not  afraid,  but  hold 
forth  thy  hand." 

When  Marti valle  had  inspected  his  palm,  ac- 
cording to  the  form  of  the  mystic  arts  which  he 
practised,  he  led  the  King  some  steps  aside. — 
"  My  royal  brother,"  he  said,  u  the  physiognomy 
of  this  youth,  together  with  the  lines  impressed  on 
his  hand,  confirm,  in  a  wonderful  degree,  the  re- 
port which  I  founded  on  his  horoscope,  as  well 
as  that  judgment  which  your  own  proficiency  in 
our  sublime  arts  induced  you  at  once  to  form  of 
him.  All  promises  that  this  youth  will  be  brave 
and  fortunate." 

"  And  faithful  ?"  said  the  King  ;  "  for  valour 
and  fortune  square  not  always  with  fidelity." 

"  And  faithful  also,"  said  the  Astrologer  ; 
•*  for  there  is  manly  firmness  in  look  and  eye, 
and  his  linea  vitce  is  deeply  marked  and  clear, 
which  indicates  a  true  and  upright  adherence  to 
those  who  do  benefit  or  lodge  trust  in  him.  But 
yet " 

"  But  what?"  said  the  King;  u  Father  Gale- 
otti,  wherefore  do  you  now  pause  ?" 

u  The  ears  of  Kings,''  said  the  Sage,  "  are  tike 
the  palates  of  those  dainty  patients  which  are  un- 
able to  endure  the  bitterness  of  the  drugs  neces- 
sary for  their  recovery." 

"  My  ears  and  my  palate  have  no  such  nice- 
ness,"  said  Louis;  let  me  hear  what  is  useful  coun- 
sel, and  swallow  what  is  wholesome  medicine, 
I  quarrel  not  with  the  rudeness  of  the  one,  or  the 
harsh  taste  of  the  other.  I  have  not  been  cock- 
IS* 


210  THE  JOURNEY. 

ered  in  wantonness  or  indulgence  ;  my  youth  wa* 
one  of  exile  and  suffering.  My  ears  are  used  to 
harsh  counsel,  and  take  no  offence  at  it." 

"  Then  plainly,  Sire,"  replied  Galeotti,  "  if 
you  have  aught  in  your  purposed  commission, 
which — which,  in  short,  may  startle  a  scrupulous 
conscience — entrust  it  not  to  this  youth — at  least, 
not  till  a  few  years  exercise  in  your  service  has 
made  him  as  unhesitating  as  others." 

"  And  is  this  what  you  hesitated  to  speak,  my 
good  Galeotti  r  and  didst  thou  think  thy  speak- 
ing it  would  offend  me  ?"  answered  the  King. 
"  Alack,  I  know  that  thou  art  well  sensible 
that  the  path  of  royal  policy  cannot  be  always 
squared  (as  that  of  private  life  ought  invariably 
to  be,)  by  the  abstract  maxims  of  religion,  and  of 
morality.  Wherefore  do  we,  the  Princes  of  the 
earth,  found  churches  and  monasteries,  make 
pilgrimages,  undergo  penances  and  perform 
devotions  with  which  others  may  dispense,  un- 
less it  be  because  the  benefit  of  the  public,  and 
the  welfare  of  our  kingdoms,  force  us  upon 
measures  which  grieve  our  consciences  as  Chris- 
tians ?  But  Heaven  has  mercy — the  Church,  an 
unbounded  stock  of  merits,  and  the  intercession 
of  our  Lady  of  Embrun,  and  the  blessed  saints, 
is  urgent,  everlasting,  and  omnipotent." — He  laid 
his  hat  on  the  table,  and  devoutly  kneeling  be- 
fore the  images  stuck  into  the  hat-band,  repeat- 
ed,'in  an  earnest  tone,  u  Sancte  Huberte,  Sonde 
Juliane,  Sonde  Martine,  Sando  Rosalia,  Sancti 
quotquot  adestis,  Orate,  pro  me  peccotore  /"  He 
then  smote  his  breast,  arose,  re-assumed  his  hat 
and  continued, — "  Be  assured,  good  father,  that 
whatever  there  may  be  in  our  commission,  of  the 
nature  at  which  you  have  hinted,  the  execution 
shall  not  be  entrusted  to  this  youth,  nor  shall  he 
be  privy  to  such  part  of  our  purpose." 


THE  JOURNEY,  211 

"  In  this,"  said  the  Astrologer,  "  you,  my  royal 
brother,will  walk  wisely. — Something  may  be  ap- 
prehended likewise  from  the  rashness  of  this 
your  young  commissioner  ;  a  failing  inherent  in 
those  of  sanguine  complexion.  But  I  hold  that, 
by  the  rules  of  art,  this  chance  is  not  to  be 
weighed  against  the  other  properties  discovered 
from  his  horoscope  and  otherwise." 

"  Will  this  next  midnight  be  a  propitious  hour 
in  which  to  commence  a  perilous  journey  ?''  said 
the  King. — u  See,  here  is  your  Ephemerides — 
you  see  the  position  of  the  moon  in  regard  to  Sa- 
turn, and  the  ascendance  of  Jupiter — That  should 
argue,  methinks,  in  submission  to  your  better  art, 
success  to  him  who  sends  forth  the  expedition  at 
such  an  hour." 

"  To  him  who  sends  forth  the  expedition,"  said 
the  Astrologer,  after  a  pause,  "  this  conjunction 
doth  indeed  promise  success  ;  but,  methinks,  that 
Saturn  being  combust,  threatens  danger  and  m- 
fortune  to  the  party  sent ;  whence  I  infer  that  the 
errand  may  be  perilous,  or  even  fatal,  to  those 
who  are  to  journey.  Violence  and  captivity, 
methinks,  are  intimated  in  that  adverse  conjunc- 
tion." 

"  Violence  and  captivity  to  those  who  are  sent," 
answered  the  King,  '*  but  success  to  the  wishes 
of  the  sender — Runs  it  not  thus,  my  learned  fa- 
ther ?" 

"  Even  so,"  replied  the  Astrologer. 

The  King  paused,  without  giving  any  further 
indication  how  far  this  presaging  speech  (proba- 
bly hazarded  by  the  Astrologer  from  his  know- 
ledge that  the  commission  related  to  some  dan- 
gerous purpose,)  squared  with  his  real  object, 
which  as  the  reader  is  aware,  was  to  betray  the 
Countess  Isabelle  of  Croye  into  the  hands  of 
William  de  la  Marck,  a  leader  distinguished  for 
his  turbulent  disposition  and  ferocious  bravery. 


212  THE  JOURNEY. 

The  King  then  pulled  forth  a  paper  from  his 
pocket,  and  ere  he  gave  it  to  Martivalle,  said,  in  a 

tone    which    resembled  that  of  an  apology, 

u  Learned  Galeotti,  be  not  surprised,  that,  pos- 
sessing in  you  an  oracular  treasure,  superior  to 
that  lodged  in  the  breast  of  any  now  alive,  not 
excepting  the  great  Nostradamus  himself.  I  am 
desirous  frequently  to  avail  myself  of  your  skill 
in  those  doubts  and  difficulties,  which  beset  every 
Prince  who  hath  to  contend  with  rebellions  within 
his  land,  and  with  external  enemies,  both  power- 
ful and  inveterate.1' 

"  When  I  was  honoured  with  your  request, 
Sire,"  said  the  philosopher,  lt  and  abandoned  the 
Court  of  Buda  for  that  of  Plessis,  it  was  with 
the  resolution  to  place  at  the  command  of  my 
royal  patron  whatever  my  art  had  that  might  be 
of  service  to  him." 

"  Enough,  good  Martivalle — I  pray  thee  attend 
to  the  import  of  this  question." — He  proceeded 
to  read  from  the  paper  in  his  hand  : — M  A  person 
having  on  hand  a  weighty  controversy,  which  is 
like  to  draw  to  debate  either  by  lawT  or  by  force 
of  arms,  is  desirous,  for  the  present,  to  seek  ac- 
commodation by  a  personal  interview  with  his 
antagonist.  He  desires  to  know  what  day  will 
be  propitious  for  the  execution  of  such  a  purpose  ; 
also,  what  is  likely  to  be  the-success  of  such  a  ne- 
gociation,  and  whether  his  adversary  will  be 
moved  to  answrer  the  confidence  thus  reposed  in 
him  with  gratitude  and  kindness,  or  may  rather  • 
be  likely  to  abuse  the  opportunity  and  advantage 
which  such  a  meeting  mav  afford  him  r" 

"  It  is  an  important  question,"  said  Martivalle, 
when  the  King  had  done  reading,  u  and  requires 
that  I  should  set  a  planetary  figure,  and  give  it 
instant  and  deep  consideration." 

"  Let  it  be  so,  my  good  father  in  the  sciences, 


THE  JOURNEY.  213 

and  thou  shalt  know  what  t  is  to  oblige  a  King 
of  France.  We  are  determined,  if  the  constella- 
tions forbid  not, — and  our  own  humble  art  leads 
us  to  think  that  they  approve  our  purpose, — to 
hazard  something  even  in  our  own  person,  to 
stop  these  anti-Christian  wars.'1 

••  Mav  the  Saints  forward  your  Majesty's  pious 
intent. w  said  the  Astrologer,  "  and  guard  your 
sacred  person  !" 

kC  Thanks,  learned  father. — Here  is  something, 
the  while,  to  enlarge  your  curious  library.'' 

He  placed  under  one  of  the  volumes  a  small 
purse  of  gold — for.  economical  even  in  his  super- 
stitions, Louis  conceived  the  Astrologer  suffi- 
ciently bound  to  his  service  bv  the  pensions  he 
had  assigned  him,  and  thought  himself  entitled 
to  the  use  of  his  skill  at  a  moderate  rate,  even 
upon  great  exigencies. 

Louis  having  thus,  in  legal  phrase,  added  a  re- 
freshing fee  to  his  general  retainer,  turned  from 
him  to  address  Durward  kw  Follow  me,"  he  said, 
k<  my  bonny  Scot — as  one  chosen  bv  Destiny  and 
a  Monarch  to  accomplish  a  bold  adventure.  All 
must  be  got  ready,  that  thou  may'st  put  foot*in 
stirrup  the  very  instant  the  bell  of  Saint  Martin's 
tolls  twelve.  One  minute  sooner,  one  minute 
later,  were  to  forfeit  the  favourable  aspect  of  the 
constellations  which  smile  on  your  adventur. 

Thus  saying,  the  King  left  the  apartment,  fol- 
lowed by  his  young  grandsman  ;  and  no  sooner 
were  they  gone,  than  the  astrologer  gave  way  to 
very  different  feelings  from  those  which  seemed 
to  animate  him  during  the  royal  presence. 

k-  The  niggardly  slave  !"  he  said,  weighing  the 
purse  in  his  hand, — for,  a  man  of  unbounded  ex- 
pense, he  had  almost  constant  occasion  for  iv 
— ■•  The  base  sordid  cullion  !   A  coxswain's  wife 
would  give  more   to  know  that  the  husband  had 


214  THE  JOURNEY. 

crossed  the  narrow  seas  in  safety.  He  acquire  any 
tincture  of  humane  letters  !  yes,  when  prowling 
foxes  and  veiling  wolves  become  musicians.  He 
read  the  glorious  blazoning  of  the  firmamen  t 
ay,  when  sordid  moles  shall  become  lynxes.  Post 
tot  promissa — after  so  many  promises  made,  to 
entice  me  from  the  court  of  the  magnificent  Mat- 
thias, where  Hun  and  Turk,  Christian  and  infi- 
del, the  Czar  of  Muscovia  and  the  Cham  of 
Tartary  themselves,  contended  to  load  me  with 
gifts, — doth  he  think  I  am  to  abide  in  this  old 
Castle,  like  a  bullfinch  in  a  cage,  fain  to  sing  as 
oft  as  he  chuses  to  whistle,  and  all  for  seed  and 
water  ? — Not  so — aut  viveniam  via?n,  autfaciam 
— I  will  discover  or  contrive  a  remedy.  The 
Cardinal  Balue  is  politic  and  liberal — this  query 
shall  to  him,  and  it  shall  be  his  Eminence's  own 
fault  if  the  stars  speak  not  as  he  would  have 
them." 

He  again  took  the  despised  guerdon,  and 
weighed  it  in  his  hand.  "  It  may  be,"  he  said, 
"  there  is  some  jewel  or  pearl  of  price  concealed 
in  this  paltry  case — I  have  heard  he  can  be  libe- 
ral even  to  lavishness,  when  it  suits  his  caprice  or 
interest." 

He  emptied  the  purse,  which  contained  neither 
more  nor  less  than  ten  gold  pieces.  The  indig- 
nation of  the  Astrologer  was  extreme.  "  Thinks 
he  that  for  this  paltry  hire  I  will  practise  that 
celestial  science  which  I  have  studied  with  the 
Armenian  Abbot  of  Istrahoff,  who  had  not  seen 
ihe  sun  for  forty  years — with  the  Greek  Dubra- 
vius,  who  is  said  to  have  raised  the  dead — and 
have  even  visited  the  Scheik  Eba  Hali  in  his  cave 
in  the  deserts  of  Thebais  ?  No,  by  heaven  !  he 
that  contemns  art  shall  perish  through  his  own 
ignorance.     Ten  pieces  ! — a  pittance  which  I  am 


THE  JOURNEY.  21o 

half  ashamed  to  offer  to  Toinette,  to  buy  her  new 
breast-laces." 

So  saying,  the  indignant  Sage  nevertheless 
plunged  the  contemned  pieces  of  gold  into  a 
large  pouch  which  he  wore  at  his  girdle,  which 
Toinette  and  other  abettors  of  lavish  expense, 
generally  contrived  to  empty  fully  faster  than 
the  philosopher,  with  all  his  art,  could  and  the 
means  of  filling  it. 


216  ] 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  JOURNEY. 


see  thee  yet,  fair  France — thou  favour'd  land 
Of  art  and  nature — thou  art  still  before  me ; 
Thy  sons,  to  whom  thy  labour  is  a  sport, 
So  well  thy  grateful  soil  returns  its  tribute  ; 
Thy  sun-burnt  daughters,  with  their  laughing-  eyes 
And  glossy  raven  locks.     But,  favour'd  France, 
Thou  hast  had  many  a  tale  of  woe  to  tell, 
In  ancient  times  as  now. 

Jlnonymmis, 

Avoiding  all  conversation  with  any  one,  (for 
such  was  his  charge,)  Quentin  Durward  proceed-' 
ed  hastily  to  array  himself  in  a  strong  but  plain 
cuirass,  with  thigh  and  arm-pieces,  and  placed 
on  his  head  a  good  steel  cap  without  any  visor. 
To  these  were  added  a  handsome  cassock  of  sha- 
moy  leather  finely  dressed,  and  laced  down  the 
seams  with  some  embroidery,  such  as  might  be- 
come a  superior  officer  in  a  noble  household. 

These  things  were  brought  to  his  apartment 
by  Oliver,  who,  with  his  quiet  insinuating  smile 
and  manner,  acquainted  him  that  his  uncle  had 
been  summoned  to  mount  guard,  purposely  that 
he  might  make  no  inquiries  concerning  these 
mysterious  movements. 


1  HE  JOURNEY.  217 

-  \ur  excuse  will  be  made  to  your  kinsman," 
said  Oliver,  smiling  again  ;  u  and,  mv  dearest 
son,  when  vou  return  safe  from  the  execution  of 
this  pleasing  trust,  I  doubt  not  you  will  be  found 
worthy  of  such  promotion  as  will  dispense  with 
your  accounting  for  your  motions  to  anv  one, 
while  it  will  place  vou  at  the  head  of  those  who 
must  render  an  account  of  theirs  to  vou  " 

So  spoke  Oliver  le  Diable,  calculating,  proba- 
blv,  in  his  own  mind,  the  great  chance  there  was 
that  the  poor  vouth,  whose  hand  he  squeezed 
affectioately  as  he  spoke,  must  necessarilv  en- 
counter death  or  captivitv  in  the  commission  en- 
trusted to  his  charge. 

At  a  few  minutes  before  twelve  at  midnight, 
Quentin,  according  to  his  directions,  proceed- 
ed to  the  second  court-yard,  and  paused  under 
the  Dauphin's  Tower,  which,  as  the  reader 
knows,  was  assigned  for  the  temporarv  resi- 
dence of  the  Countesses  of  Croye.  He  found, 
at  this  place  of  rendezvous,  the  men  and  horses 
appointed  to  compose  the  retinue,  leading  two 
sumpter  mules  already  loaded  with  baggage,  and 
holding  three  palfrevs  for  the  two  Countesses  and 
a  faithful  waiting- woman,  with  a  statelv  war- 
horse  for  himself,  whose  steel-plated  saddle 
glanced  in  the  pale  moonlight.  Not  a  word  of 
recognition  was  spoken  on  either  side.  Am 
men  sate  still  in  their  saddles,  as  if  thev  Were 
motionless,  and  by  the  same  imperfect  light 
Quentin  saw  with  pleasure  that  they  were  all 
1,  and  held  long  lances  in  their  hancs. 
They  were  onlv  three  in  number;  but  one  of 
them  whispered  to  Quentin,  in  a  strong  Gascon 
.accent,  that  their  guide  was  to  join  them  beyond 
Tours. 

Meantime,  lights  glanced  to  and  fro  at  the 
lattices  of  the  tower,  as  if  there  was    bustle  and 

Vol.  1.— 19 


218  THE  JOURNEY. 

preparation  among  its  inhabitants.  At  length 
a  small  door,  which  led  from  the  bottom  of  the 
tower  to  the  court,  was  unclosed,  and  three  fe- 
males came  forth,  attended  by  a  man  wrapped 
in  a  cloak.  They  mounted  in  silence  the  pal- 
treys  which  stood  prepared  for  them,  while 
their  attendant  on  foot  led  the  way,  and  gave 
the  pass-words  and  signals  to  the  watchful 
guards,  whose  posts  they  passed  in  succession. 
Thus  they  at  length  reached  the  exterior  of  these 
formidable  barriers.  Here  the  man  on  foot,  who 
had  hitherto  acted  as  their  guide,  paused,  and 
bpoke  low  and  earnestly  to  the  two  foremost  fe- 
males. 

u  May  heaven  bless  you,  Sire,"  said  a  voice 
which  thrilled  upon  Quentin  Durward's  ear, 
"  and  forgive  you,  even  if  your  purposes  be  more 
interested  than  your  words  express !  To  be 
placed  under  the  protection  of  the  good  Bishop' 
of  Liege  is  the  utmost  extent  of  my  desire." 

The  person  whom  she  thus  addressed,  mut- 
tered an  inaudible  answer,  and  retreated  back 
through  the  barrier-gate,  while  Quentin  thought 
that,  by  the  moon-glirnpse,  he  recognized  in 
him  the  King  himself,  whose  anxiety  for  the  de- 
parture of  his  guests  had  probably  induced  him 
to  give  his  presence,  in  case  scruples  should  arise 
on  their  part,  or  difficulties  on  that  of  the  guards 
of  the  Castle. 

When  the  riders  were  beyond  the  Castle,  it 
was  necessary  for  some  time  to  ride  with  great 
precaution,  in  order  to  avoid  the  pit-falls,  snares, 
and  similar  contrivances,  which  were  placed  for 
the  annoyance  of  strangers.  The  Gascon  was, 
however,  completely  possessed  of  the  clew  to 
this  labyrinth,  and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour's 
riding,  they  found  themselves  beyond  the  limits 
of  Piessis  le  Pare,  and  not  far  distant  from  the 
city  of  Tours. 


THE  JOURNEY.  219 

The  moon,  which  had  now  extricated  herself 
from  the  clouds  through  which  she  was  former- 
ly wading,  shed  a  full  sea  of  glorions  light  upon 
a  landscape  equally  glorious.  They  saw  the 
princely  Loire  rolling  his  majestic  tide  through 
the  richest  plain  in  France,  and  sweeping  along 
between  banks  ornamented  with  towers,  and  ter- 
races, and  with  olives  and  vineyards.  They  saw 
the  walls  of  the  ancient  capital  of  Touraine 
raising  their  portal  towers  and  embattlements 
white  in  the  moonlight,  while,  from  within  their 
circle,  rose  the  immense  gothic  mass  which  the 
devotion  of  the  sainted  Bishop  Perpetuus  erect- 
ed, as  early  as  the  fifth  century,  and  which  the 
zeal  of  Charlemagne  and  his  successors  had  en- 
larged with  such  architectural  splendour,  as  ren- 
dered it  the  most  magni6cent  church  in  France. 
The  towers  of  the  church  of  Saint  Gatien  were 
also  visible,  and  the  gloomy  strength  of  the  Cas- 
tle, which  was  said  to  have  been,  in  ancient  times, 
the  residence  of  the  Emperor  Valentinian. 

Even  the  circumstances  in  which  he  wTas 
placed,  though  of  a  nature  so  engrossing,  did  not 
prevent  the  wonder  and  delight  wTith  which  the 
young  Scotchman,  accustomed  to  the  waste 
though  impressive  landscape  of  his  own  moun- 
tains, and  the  poverty  even  of  his  country's  most 
stately  scenery,  looked  on  a  scene,  which  art  and 
nature  seemed  to  have  vied  in  adorning  with 
their  richest  splendour.  But  he  was  recalled  to 
the  business  of  the  moment  by  the  voice  of  the 
elder  lady  (pitched  at  least  an  octave  higher  than 
those  soft  tones  which  bid  adieu  to  King  Louis,) 
demanding  to  speak  with  the  leader  of  the  band. 
Spurring  his  horse  forward,  Quentin  reverently 
presented  himself  to  the  ladies  in  that  capacity, 
and  thus  underwent  the  interrogatories  of  the  La* 
dv  Hamelin, 


220  THE  JOURNEY. 

"  What  was  his  name,  and  what  his  degree 
He  told  both. 

"  Was  he  perfectly  acquainted  with  the 
road  ?" 

"  He  coulel  not,"  he  replied,  "  pretend  to  much 
knowledge  of  the  route,  but  he  was  furnisheel 
with  full  instructions,  and  he  was,  at  their  first 
resting-place^  to  be  provided  with  a  guide,  in  all 
respects  competent  to  the  task  of  directing  their 
farther  journey  ;  meanwhile,  a  horseman  who  had 
just  joined  them,  and  made  the  number  of  their 
guard  four,  was  to  be  their  guide  for  the  first 
stage." 

u  And  wherefore  were  you  selected  for  such  a 
duty,  young  gentleman  ?"  said  the  lady — "  1  am 
told  you  are  the  same  youth  who  was  lately  upon 
guard  in  the  gallery  in  which  we  met  the  Princess 
of  France.  You  seem  young  and  inexperienced 
for  such  a  charge — a  stranger,  too,  in  France,  and 
speaking  the  language  as  a  foreigner." 

,4  I  am  bound  to  obey  the  commands  of  the 
King,  madam,  but  not  to  reason  on  them,"  an- 
swered the  young  soldier. 

u  Are  you  of  noble  birth  ?"  said  the  same 
querist. 

"  I  may  safely  affirm  so,  madam,"  replied 
Quentin. 

"  And  are  you  not,"  said  the  younger  lady, 
addressing  him  in  her  turn,  but  with  a  timorous 
accent,  M  the  same  whom  I  saw  when  I  was  called 
to  wait  upon  the  King  at  yonder  inn  ?" 

Lowering  his  voice,  perhaps  from  similar  feel- 
ings of  timidity,  Quentin  answered  in  the  affir- 
mative. 

u  Then,  methinks,  my  cousin,"  said  the  Lad) 
Isabelle,  addressing  the  Lady  Hameline,  "  we 
must  be  safe  under  this  young  gentleman's  safe- 
guard ;  he  looks  not,  at  least,  like  one  to  wbotv 


THE  JOURNEY.  221 

the  excution  of  a  plan  of  treacherous  cruelty 
upon  two  helpless  women  could  be  with  safety 
entrusted." 

"  On  my  honour,  madam,"  said  Durward, 
u  by  the  fame  of  my  House,  by  the  bones  of  my 
ancestry,  I  could  not  for  France  and  Scotland  laid 
into  one,  be  guilty  of  treachery  or  cruelty  towards 
you  !" 

"  You  speak  well,  young  man,"  said  the  Lady 
Hameline  ;  4  but  we  are  accustomed  to  hear  fair 
speeches  from  the  King  of  France  and  his  agents. 
It  was  by  these  that  we  were  induced,  when  the 
protection  of  the  Bishop  of  Liege  might  have  been 
attained  with  less  risk  than  now,  or  when  we  might 
have  thrown  ourselves  on  that  of  Winceslaus  of 
Germany,  or  of  Edward  of  England,  to  seek  re- 
fuge in  France.  And  in  what  did  the  promises 
of  the  King  result  ?  In  an  obscure  and  shameful 
concealing  of  us,  under  plebian  names,  as  a  sort 
of  prohibited  wares,  in  yonder  paltry  hostelry, 
when  we, — who,  as  thou  knowest,  Marthon,  (ad- 
dressing her  domestic,)  never  put  on  our  head- 
tire  save  under  a  canopy,  and  upon  a  dais  of  three 
degtees, — were  compelled  to  attire  ourselves 
standing  on  the  simple  floor,  as  if  we  had  been 
two  milk-maids." 

Marthon  admitted  that  her  lady  spoke  a  most 
melancholy  truth. 

"  I  would  that  had  been  the  sorest  evil,  dear 
kinswoman,"  said  the  Lady  Isabella  ;  "  I  could 
gladly  have  dispensed  with  state." 

M  But  not  with  society,"  said  the  other  Coun- 
tess ;  u  that,  my  sweet  counsin,  was  impossible." 

u  I  would  have  dispensed  with  all,  my  dearest 
kinswoman,"  answered  Isabelle,  in  a  voice  which 
penetrated  to  the  very  heart  of  her  young  con- 
ductor and  guard,  "  with  all,  for  a  safe  and  ho<- 
sourable  retirement.  I  wish  not — God  knows,  I 
19* 


^2  THE  JOURNEY. 

never  wished — to  occasion  war  betwixt  Franee 
and  my  native  Burgundy,  or  that  lives  should  be 
lost  for  such  as  me.  I  only  implored  permission 
to  retire  to  the  Convent  of  Marmonthier,  or  to 
any  other  holy  sanctuary  " 

"  You  spoke  then  like  a  fool,  my  cousin,"  an- 
swered the  elder  lady,  "  and  not  like  a  daughter 
of  my  noble  brother.  It  is  well  there  is  still  one 
alive,  who  hath  some  of  the  spirit  of  the  noble 
House  of  Croye.  How  should  a  high-born  lady- 
be  known  from  a  sun-burnt  milk-maid,  save  that 
spears  are  broken  for  the  one,  and  only  hazel- 
poles  for  the  other  ?  I  tell  you,  maiden,  that  while 
I  was  in  the  very  earliest  bloom,  scarcely  older 
than  yourself,  the  famous  Passage  of  Arms  atHa- 
flinghem  was  held  in  my  honour  ;  the  challengers 
were  four,  the  assailants  so  many  as  twelve.  It 
lasted  three  days  ;  and  cost  the  lives  of  two  ad- 
venturous knights,  the  fracture  of  one  back-bone, 
one  collar-bone,  three  legs  and  two  arms,  besides 
flesh-wounds  and  bruises  beyond  the  heralds' 
counting  ;  and  thus  have  the  ladies  of  our  House 
ever  been  honoured.  Ah,  had  you  but  half  the 
heart  of  your  noble  ancestry,  you  would  find 
means  at  some  court,  where  ladies'  love  and  fame 
in  arms  are  still  prized,  to  maintain  a  tournament, 
at  which  your  hand  should  be  the  prize,  as  was  that 
of  \  our  great-grandmother  of  blessed  memory,  at 
the  spear-running  of  Strasbourg  ;  and  thus  should 
you  gain  the  best  Lance  in  Europe  to  maintain 
the  rights  of  the  House  of  Croye,  both  against 
the  oppression  of  Burgundy  and  the  policy  of 
France." 

"  But,  fair  kinswoman,"  answered  the  younger 
Countess,  "  I  have  been  told  by  my  old  nurse, 
that  although  the  Rhingrave  was  the  best  lance 
at  the  great  tournament  at  Strasburgh,  and  so 
won  the  hand  of  my  respected  grandmother,  yet 


THE  JOURNEY.  223 

the  match  was  no  happy  one,  as  he  used  often  to 
scold,  and  sometimes  to  beat,  my  great-grandmo- 
ther of  blessed  memory." 

M  And  wherefore  not  ?"  said  the  elder  Coun- 
tess, in  her  romantic  enthusiasm  for  the  profes- 
sion of  chivalry;  kt  why  should  those  victorious 
arms,  accustomed  to  blows  abroad,  be  bound  to 
restrain  their  energies  at  home  ?  A  thousand 
times  rather  would  I  be  beaten  twice  a-day,  by 
a  husband  whose  arm  was  as  much  feared  by 
others  as  by  me,  than  be  the  wife  of  a  coward, 
who  dared  neither  to  lift  hand  to  his  wife,  nor  to 
any  one  else !" 

"  I  should  wish  you  joy  of  such  a  restless  mate, 
fair  aunt,"  replied  Isabelle,  tc  without  envying 
you  ;  for  if  broken  bones  be  lovely  in  tourneys, 
there  is  nothing  less  amiable  in  ladies'  bower." 

u  Nay,  but  the  beating  is  no  necessary  conse- 
quence of  wedding  with  a  knight  of  fame  in  arms; 
though  it  is  true  that  our  ancestor  of  blessed  me- 
mory, the  Rhingrave  Gottfried,  was  something 
rough- tempered,  and  addicted  to  the  use  of 
Rhein-wein. — The  very  perfect  knight  is  a  lamb 
among  ladies,  and  a  lion  among  lances.  There 
was  Thibault  of  Montigni — God  be  with  him! — 
he  was  the  kindest  soul  alive,  and  not  only  was 
he  never  so  discourteous  as  to  lift  hand  against 
his  lady,  but,  by  our  good  dame,  he  who  beat 
all  enemies  without  doors,  found  a  fair  foe  who 

could  belabour   him    within. Well,  'twas  his 

own  fault — he  was  one  of  the  challengers  at  the 
Passage  of  Haflinghem,  and  so  well  bestirred 
himself,  that,  if  it  had  pleased  Heaven,  and  your 
grandfather,  there  might  have  been  a  lady  of 
Montigni,  who  had  used  his  gentle  nature  more 
gently. " 

The  Countess  Isabelle,  who  had  some  reason 
to  dread  this  Passage  of  Haflinghem,  it  being  a 


224  THE  J0URNE1 

topic  upon  which  her  aunt  was  at  all  times  very 
diffuse,  suffered  the  conversation  to  drop  ;  and 
Quentin,  with  the  natural  politeness  of  one  who 
had  been  gently  nurtured,  dreading  lest  his  pre- 
sence might  be  a  restraint  on  their  conversation, 
rode  forward  to  join  the  guide,  as  if  to  ask  him 
some  questions  concerning  their  route. 

Meanwhile,  the  ladies  continued  their  journey 
in  silence,  or  in  such  conversation  as  is  not  worth 
narrating,  until  day  began  to  break ;  and  as  they 
had  then  been  on  horseback  for  several  hours, 
Quentin,  anxious  lest  they  should  be  fatigued,  be- 
came impatient  to  know  their  distance  from  the 
nearest  resting-place. 

"  I  will  shew  it  you,"  answered  the  guide,  u  in 
half  an  hour." 

"  And  then  you  leave  us  to  other  guidance  ?" 
continued  Quentin. 

"  Even  so,  Seignior  Archer,"  replied  the  man  ; 
^my  journies  are  always  short  and  straight. — 
When  you  and  others,  Seignor  Archer,  go  by  the 
bow,  I  always  go  by  the  cord." 

The  moon  had  by  this  time  long  decayed,  and 
the  lights  of  dawn  were  beginning  to  spread  bright 
and  strong  in  the  east,  and  to  gleam  in  the  bosom 
of  a  small  lake,  on  the  verge  of  which  they  had 
been  riding  for  a  short  space  of  time.  This  lake 
lay  in  the  midst  of  a  wide  plain,  scattered  over 
with  single  trees,  groves,  and  thickets  ;  but  which 
might  be  yet  termed  open,  so  that  objects  began 
to  be  discerned  with  sufficient  accuracy.  Quen- 
tin cast  his  eye  on  the  person  whom  he  rode  be- 
side, and  under  the  shadow  of  a  slouched  over- 
spreading hat,  which  resembled  the  sombrero  of 
a  Spanish  peasant,  he  recognized  the  facetious 
features  of  the  same  Petit- Andre,  whose  fingers, 
not  long  since,  had,  in  concert  with  those  of  his 
lugubrious  brother,  Trois-Eschelles,  been  so  un- 


x'HE  jOURXLY.  225 

pleasantly  active  about  his  throat. — Impelled  by 
aversion,  not  altogether  unmixed  with  fear,  (for 
in  his  own  country  the  executioner  is  regarded 
with  almost  superstitious  horror,)  which  his  late 
narrow  escape  had  not  diminished,  Durward  in- 
stinctively moved  his  horse" s  head  to  the  right, 
and  pressing  him  at  the  same  time  with  the  spur, 
made  a  demi-volte,  which  separated  him  eight 
feet  from  his  hateful  companion. 

"  Ho,  ho,  ho,  ho  !"  exclaimed  Petit-Andre  ; 
"  by  our  Lady  of  the  Greve,  our  young  soldier 
remembers  us  of  old. — What,  comrade,  you  bear 
no  malice,  I  trust  ? — every  one  wins  his  bread  in 
this  country.  No  man  need  be  ashamed  of  ha- 
ving come  through  my  hands,  for  I  will  do  my 
work  with  any  that  ever  tied  a  living  weight  to 
a  dead  tree. — And  God  hath  given  me  grace  to 
be  such  a  merry  fellow  withal — Ha!  Hal  ha  !^» 
I  could  tell  you  such  jests  I  have  cracked  be- 
tween the  foot  of  the  ladder  and  the  top  of  the 
gallows,  that,  by  my  halidome,  I  have  been  obliged 
to  do  my  job  rather  hastily,  for  fear  the  fellows 
should  die  with  laughing,  and  so  shame  mv  mys- 
tery !" 

As  he  thus  spoke,  he  edged  his  horse  sideways, 
to  regain  the  interval  which  the  Scot  had  left  be- 
tween them,  saving  at  the  same  time,  a  Come, 
Seignor  Archer,  let  there  be  no  unkindness  be- 
twixt us  ! — For  my  part,  I  always  do  my  duty 
without  malice,  and  with  a  light  heart,  and  I  never 
love  a  man  better  than  when  I  have  put  my  scant- 
of-wind  collar  about  his  neck,  to  dub  him  Knight 
of  the  Order  of  Saint  Patibularius,  as  the  Pro- 
vost's Chaplain,  the  worthy  Father  Vaconeldiabk 
is  wont  to  call  the  Patron  Saint  of  the  Provos- 
try.'" 

"  Keep  back,  thou  wretched  object!"  exclaimed 
Quentin,  as  the  finisher  of  the  lav,'  again  sought 


226  THE  JOURNEY. 

to  approach  him  closer,  "  or  I  will  be  tempted  to 
teach  you  the  distance  that  should  be  betwixt  men 
of  honour,  and  such  an  outcast." 

"  La  you  there,  how  hot  you  are  !*'  said  the 
fellow  ;  u  had  you  said  men  of  honesty,  there  had 
been  some  savour  of  truth  in  it ; — but  for  men  of 
honour,  good  lack,  I  have  to  deal  with  them  every 
day,  as  nearly  and  closely  as  I  was  about  to  do 
business  with  you. — But  peace  be  with  you,  and 
keep  your  company  to  yourself.  I  would  have  be- 
stowed a  flagon  of  Auvernat  upon  you  to  wash 
away  every  unkindness — but  you  scorn  my  cour- 
tesy.— Well.  Be  as  churlish  as  you  list — I  never 
quarrel  with  my  customers — my  jerry-come-tum- 
bles,  my  merry  dancers,  my  little  play-fellows,  as 
Jacques  Butcher  says  to  his  lambs — those  in  fine, 
who,  like  your  seignorship,  have  H.  E.  M.  P. 
written  on  their  foreheads — No,  no,  let  them  use 
me  as  they  list,  they  shall  have  my  good  service 
at  last — and  yourself  shall  see,  when  you  next 
come  under  Petit-Andre's  hands,  that  he  knows 
how  to  forgive  an  injury." 

So  saying,  and  summing  up  the  whole  with  a 
provoking  wink,  and  such  an  interjectional  tchick 
as  men  quicken  a  dull  horse  with,  Petit- Andre 
drew  off  to  the  other  side  of  the  path,  and  left 
the  youth  to  digest  the  taunts  he  had  treated  him 
with,  as  his  proud  Scotch  sto  mach  best  might.  A 
strong  desire  had  Quentin  to  have  belaboured 
him  while  the  staff  of  his  lance  could  hold  to- 
gether ;  but  he  put  a  restraint  on  his  passion,  re- 
collecting that  a  brawl  with  such  a  character  could 
be  creditable  at  no  time  or  place,  and  that  a  quar- 
rel of  any  kind,  on  the  present  occasion,  would 
be  a  breach  of  duty,  and  might  involve  the  most 
perilous  consequences.  He  therefore  swallowed 
his  wrath  at  the  ill-timed  and  professional  jokes  of 
Mons   Petit-Andre,  and  contented  himself  with 


THE  JOURNEY.  227 

devoutly  hoping  that  they  had  not  reached  the 
ears  of  his  fair  charge,  on  which  they  could  not 
be  supposed  to  make  an  impression  in  favour  of 
himself,  as  one  obnoxious  to  such  sarcasms.  But 
he  was  speedily  roused  from  such  thoughts  by 
the  cry  of  both  the  ladies  at  once,  u  Look  back — 
look  back  ! — For  the  love  of  Heaven  look  to  your- 
self, and  us — we  are  pursued  !" 

Quentin  hastily  looked  back,  and  saw  that  two 
armed  men  were  in  fact  following  them,  and  ri- 
ding at  such  a  pace  as  must  soon  bring  them  up 
with  their  party.  "  It  can,"  he  said,  "  be  only 
some  of  the  Provostry  making  their  rounds  in  the 
Forest. — Do  thou  look,"  he  said  to  Petit-Andre, 
vtand  see  what  they  may  be.9' 

Petit-Andre  obeyed  ;  and  rolling  himself  jo- 
cosely in  the  saddle  after  he  had  made  his  obser- 
vations, replied,  u  These,  fair  sir,  are  neither  your 
comrades  nor  mine — neither  Arches  nor  Marshal- 
men — for  I  think  they  wear  helmets,  with  visors 
lowered,  and  gorgets  of  the  same. — A  plague 
upon  these  gorgets,  of  all  other  pieces  of  armour ! 
— I  have  fumbled  with  them  an  hour  before  I 
could  undo  the  rivets." 

"  Do  you  gracious  ladies,"  said  Durward,  with- 
out attending  to  Petit-Andre,  u  ride  forward — ■ 
not  so  fast  as  to  raise  an  opinion  of  your  being  in 
flight,  and  yet  fast  enough  to  avail  yourself  of  the 
impediment  which  I  shall  presently  place  between 
you  and  these  men  who  follow  us." 

The  Countess  Isabelle  looked  to  their  guide, 
and  then  whispered  her  aunt,  who  spoke  to  Quen- 
tin thus — a  We  have  confidence  in  your  care,  fair 
Archer,  and  will  abide  rather  the  risk  of  whatever 
may  chance  in  your  company,  then  we  will  go  on- 
ward with  that  man,  whose  mein  is,  we  think,  of 
no  good  augury." 

u  Be  it  as  you  will,  ladies,"  said  the  youth — 


228  THE  JOURNEY. 

"  T^ere  are  but  two  who  come  after  us,  and 
though  they  be  knights,  as  their  arms  seem  to 
shew,  they  shall,  if  they  have  any  evil  purpose, 
learn  how  a  Scotchman  can  do  his  devoir  in  the 
prtsence  and  defence  of  such  as  you  are. — Which 
of  you  there,''  he  continued,  addressing  the  guards 
whom  he  commanded,  ,c  is  willing  to  be  my  com- 
rade, and  to  break  a  lance  with  these  gallants  ?" 

Two  of  the  men  obviously  faultered  in  reso- 
lution ;  but  the  third,  Bertrand  Guyot,  swore, 
"  that,  cap  de  dioii^  were  they  Knights  of  King 
Arthur's  Round  Table,  he  would  try  their  met- 
tle, for  the  honour  of  Gascon  v." 

While  he  spoke,  the  two  knights,  for  thev 
seemed  of  no  less  rank,  came  with  the  rear  of 
the  party,  in  which  Quentin,  with  his  sturdy  ad- 
herent, had  by  this  time  stationed  himself.  They 
were  fully  accoutred  in  excellent  armour  of  po- 
lished steel,  without  any  device  by  which  they 
could  be  distinguished. 

One  of  them,  as  they  approached,  called  out 
to  Quentin,  M  Sir  Squire,  give  place — we  come 
to  relieve  you  of  a  charge  which  is  above  your 
rank  and  condition.  You  will  do  well  to  leave 
these  ladies  in  our  care,  who  are  fitter  to  wait 
upon  them,  especially  as  we  know  that  in  yours 
they  are  little  better  than  captives." 

"  In  return  to  your  demand,  sirs,"  replied 
Durward,  "  know,  in  the  first  place,  that  I  am 
discharging  the  duty  imposed  upon  me  by  my 
present  Sovereign  ;  and  next,  that  however  un- 
worthy I  may  be,  the  ladies  desire  to  abide  under 
my  protection." 

"  Out,  sirrah  !"•  exclaimed  one  of  the  cham- 
pions ;  u  will  you,  a  wandering  beggar,  put  your- 
self on  terms  of  resistance  against  belted  knights?" 

"  They  are  indeed  terms  of  resistance,"  said 
Quentin,  u  since  they  oppose  your  insolent  and 


THE  JOURNEY.  229 

unlawful  aggression;  and  if  there  be  difference  of 
rank  between  us,  which  as  yet  I  know  not,  your 
discourtesy  has  done  it  away.  Draw  your  sword, 
or,  if  you  will  use  the  lance,  take  ground  for  your 
career." 

While  the  knights  turned  their  horses,  and  rode 
back  to  the  distance  of  about  a  hundred  and  fifty 
yards,  Quentin,  looking  to  the  ladies,  bent  low  on 
his  6addle-bow,  as  if  desiring  their  favourable  re- 
gard, and  as  they  streamed  towards  him  their  ker- 
chiefs, in  token  of  encouragement,  the  two  assail- 
ants had  gained  the  distance  necessary  for  their 
charge. 

Calling  to  the  Gascon  to  bear  himself  like  a 
man,  Durward  put  his  steed  into  motion;  and  the 
four  horsemen  met  in  full  career  in  the  midst  of  the 
ground  which  at  first  separated  them.  The  shock 
was  fatal  to  the  poor  Gascon;  for  his  adversary, 
aiming  at  his  face,  which  was  undefended  by  a  visor, 
run  him  through  the  eye  into  the  brain,  so  that  he 
fell  dead  from  his  horse. 

On  the  other  hand,  Quentin,  though  labouring 
under  the  same  disadvantage,  swayed  himself  in  the 
saddle  so  dexterously,  that  the  hostile  lance,  slightly 
scratching  his  cheek,  passed  over  his  right  shoul- 
der; while  his  own  spear,  striking  his  antagonist 
fair  upon  the  breast,  hurled  him  to  the  ground. 
Quentin  jumped  off,  to  unhelm  his  fallen  opponent; 
but  the  other  knight,  (who,  by  the  way,  had  never 
yet  spoken,)  seeing  the  fortune  of  his  companion, 
dismounted  still  more  speedily  than  Durward,  and 
bestriding  his  friend,  who  lay  senseless,  exclaimed, 
"  In  the  name  of  God  and  Saint  Martip,  mount, 
good  fellow,  and  get  thee  gone  with  thy  woman's 
Wyr~! — Ventre  Sunt  Gris,  they  have  caused  mis- 
chief enough  this  morning." 

M  By  your  leave,  Sir  Knight,"  said  Quentin,  who 
could  not  brook  the  menacing  tone  in  which  this  ad- 
vice was  given,  u  I  will  first  see  whom  I  have  had 

vol.  i. — 20 


230  THE  JOURNEY. 

to  do  with,  and  learn  who  is  to  answer  for  the  death 
of  my  comrade." 

"  That  shalt  thou  never  live  to  know  or  to  tell," 
answered  the  knight.  "  Get  thee  back  in  peace, 
good  fellow.  If  we  were  fools  for  interrupting  your 
passage,  we  have  had  the  worse,  for  thou  hast  done 
more  evil  than  the  lives  of  thou  and  thy  whole  band 
could  repay. — Nay,  if  thou  wilt  have  it,  (for  Quen- 
tin  now  drew  his  sword,  and  advanced  on  him,)  take 
it  with  a  vengeance!" 

So  saying,  he  dealt  the  Scot  such  a  blow  on  the 
helmet,  as,  till  that  moment,  (though  bred  where 
good  blows  were  plenty,)  he  had  only  read  of  in 
romance.  It  descended  like  a  thunderbolt,  beating 
down  the  guard  which  the  young  soldier  had  raised 
to  protect  his  head,  and,  reaching  his  helmet  of 
proof,  cut  it  through  so  far  as  to  touch  his  hair,  but 
without  farther  injury;  while  D  irward,  dizzy,  stun- 
ned, and  beaten  down  on  one  knee,  was  for  an  in- 
stant at  the  mercy  of  the  knight,  had  it  pleased  him 
to  second  his  blow.  But  compassion  for  Quentin's 
youth,  or  admiration  of  his  courage,  or  a  generous 
love  of  fair  play,  made  him  withhold  from  taking 
such  advantage;  while  Quentin,  collecting  himself, 
sprung  up  and  attacked  his  antagonist  with  the  ener- 
gy of  one  determined  to  conquer  or  die,  and  at  the 
same  time  with  the  presence  of  mind  necessary  for 
fighting  the  quarrel  out  to  the  best  advantage.  Re- 
solved not  again  to  expose  himself  to  such  dreadful 
blows  as  he  had  just  sustained,  he  employed  the  ad- 
vantage of  superior  agility,  increased  by  the  compa- 
rative lightness  of  his  armour,  to  harass  his  antago- 
nist, by  traversing  on  all  sides,  with  a  suddenness  of 
motion  and  rapidity  of  attack,  against  which  the 
knight,  in  his  hta\y  panoply,  found  it  difficult  to  de- 
fend himself  without  much  fatigue. 

It  was  in  vain  that  this  generous  antagonist  called 
aloud  to  Quentin,44 that  there  now  remained  no  cause 
of  fight  betwixt  them,  and  that  he  was  loath  to  be 


THE   JOURNEY.  231 

constrained  to  do  him  injury."  Listening  only  to  the 
suggestions  of  a  passionate  wish  to  redeem  the 
shame  of  his  temporary  defeat,  Durward  continued 
to  assail  him  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning — now- 
menacing  him  with  the  edge,  now  with  the  point  of 
his  sword — and  ever  keeping  such  an  eye  on  the 
motions  of  his  opponent,  of  whose  superior  strength 
he  had  had  terrible  proof,  that  he  was  ready  to  spring 
backward  or  aside,  from  under  the  blows  of  his  tre- 
mendous weapon. 

u  Now  the  devil  be  with  thee  for  an  obstinate  and 
presumptuous  fool,"  muttered  the  knight,  "  that  can- 
not be  quiet  till  thou  art  knocked  on  the  head!"  So 
saying,  he  changed  his  mode  of  fighting,  collected 
himself  as  if  to  stand  on  the  defensive,  and  seemed 
contented  with  parrying,  instead  of  returning,  the 
blows  which  Quentin  unceasingly  aimed  at  him,  with 
the  internal  resolution,  that  the  instant  when  either 
loss  of  breath,  or  any  false  or  careless  pass  of  the 
young  soldier,  should  give  an  opening,  he  would 
put  an  end  to  the  fight  by  a  single  blow.  It  is  likely 
he  might  have  succeeded  in  this  artful  policy,  but 
Fate  had  ordered  it  otherwise. 

The  duel  was  still  at  the  hottest,  when  a  large 
party  of  horse  rode  up,  crying,  a  Hold,  in  the 
King's  name!"  Both  champions  stepped  back — 
and  Quentin  saw,  with  surprise,  that  his  Captain, 
Lord  Crawford,  was  at  the  head  of  the  party  who 
had  thus  interrupted  their  combat.  There  was  also 
Tristan  l'Hermite,  with  two  or  three  of  his  follow- 
ers; making,  in  all,  perhaps  twenty  horse. 


232  THE  GUIDE. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  GUIDE. 

Pie  was  a  son  of  Egypt,  as  he  told  me, 

And  one  descended  from  those  dread  magicians, 

Who  waged  rash  war,  when  Israel  dwelt  in  Goshen.. 

With  Israel  and  her  Prophet — matching  rod 

With  his  the  sons  of  Levi's — and  encountering 

Jehovah's  miracles  with  incantations, 

Till  upon  A%ypt  came  the  avenging  angel, 

And  those  proud  sages  wept  for  their  first-born, 

As  wept  the  unletter'd  peasant. 

Anonymous, 

The  arrival  of  Lord  Crawford  and  his  guard 
put  an  immediate  end  to  the  engagement  which  we 
endeavoured  to  describe  in  the  last  chapter;  and  the 
Knight,  throwing  off  his  helmet,  hastily  gave  the 
old  Lord  his  sword,  saying,  "  Crawford,  I  render 
myself — But  hither — and  lend  me  your  ear — a  word, 
for  God's  sake — save  the  Duke  of  Orleans!" 

"How: — what? — the  Duke  of  Orleans!"  exclaimed 
the  Scottish  commander, — How  came  this,  in  the 
name  of  the  foul  fiend?  It  will  ruin  the  callant  with 
the  King,  for  ever  and  a  day." 

"  Ask  no  questions,"  said  Dunois — for  it  was  no 
other  than  he— u  it  was  all  ray  fault.  See,  he  stirs. 
I  came  forth  but  to  have  a  snatch  at  yonder  damsel, 
and  make  myself  a  landed  and  a  married  man— and 
see  what  is  come  on't.  Keep  back  your  canaille — let 
no  man  look  upon  him."  So  saying,  he  opened  the 
visor  of  Orleans,  and  threw  water  on  his  face, 
which  was  afforded  by  the  neighbouring  lake. 

Quentin  Durward,  meanwhile,  stood  like  one 
planet-struck;  so  fast  did  new  adventures  pour  in 
upon  him.  He  had  now,  as  the  pale  features  of  his 
first  antagonist  assured  him,  borne  to  the  earth  the 
first  Prince  of  the  blood  in  France,  and  had  mea- 


THE  GUIDE.  233 

sured  swords  with  her  best  champion,  the  cele- 
brated Dunois; — both  of  them  achievements  honour- 
able in  themselves;  but  whether  they  might  be 
called  good  service  to  the  King,  was  a  very  differ- 
ent question. 

The  Duke  had  now  recovered  his  breath,  and 
was  able  to  sit  up  and  give  attention  to  what  passed 
betwixt  Dunois  and  Crawford,  while  the  former 
pleaded  eagerly,  that  there  was  no  occasion  to  men- 
tion in  the  matter  the  name  of  the  most  noble  Or- 
leans, while  he  was  ready  to  take  the  whole  blame 
on  his  own  shoulders;  and  to  avouch  that  the  Duke 
had  only  come  thither  in  friendship  to  him. 

Lord  Crawford  continued  listening,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ground,  and  from  time  to  time  he 
sighed  and  shook  his  head.  At  length  he  said, 
looking  up,  "Thou  knowest,  Dunois,  that,  for  thy 
father's  sake,  as  well  as  thine  own,  I  would  full  fain 
do  thee  a  service." 

"It  is  not  for  myself  I  demand  any  thing,"  an- 
swered Dunois.  "  Thou  hast  my  sword,  and  I  am 
your  prisoner — what  needs  more? — But  it  is  for 
this  noble  Prince,  the  only  hope  of  France,  if  God 
should  call  the  Dauphin.  He  onlv  came  hither  to 
do  me  a  favour — in  an  effort  to  make  my  fortune — 
in  a  matter  which  the  King  had  partly  encouraged." 

"Dunois,"  replied  Crawford,  "if  another  had 
told  me  thou  hadst  brought  the  noble  Prince  into 
this  jeopardy  to  serve  any  purpose  of  thine  own,  I 
had  told  them  it  was  false.  And  now,  that  thou 
doest  thyself  so,  I  can  hardly  believe  it  is  for  the 
sake  of  speaking  the  truth." 

"  Noble  Crawford,"  said  Orleans,  who  had  now 
entirely  recovered  from  his  swoon,  "you  are  too 
like  in  character  to  your  friend  Dunois,  not  to  do 
him  justice.  It  was  indeed  I  that  dragged  him 
hither,  most  unwillingly,  upon  an  enterprize  of 
hair-brained  passion,  suddenly  and  rashly  under- 
taken. Look  on  me  all  who  will,"  he  added,  riskig 
20* 


234  THE  GUIDE. 

up  and  turning  to  the  soldiery—1'  I  am  Louis  of 
Orleans,  willing  to  pay  the  penalty  of  my  own  folly. 
I  trust  the  King  will  limit  his  displeasure  to  roe,  as 
is  but  just.  Meanwhile,  as  a  Child  of  France  must 
not  give  up  his  sword  to  any  one — not  even  to  you, 
brave  Crawford — fare  thee  well,  good  steel." 

So  saying,  he  drew  his  sword  from  its  scabbard, 
and  flung  it  into  the  lake.  It  went  through  the  air 
like  a  stream  of  lightning,  and  sunk  in  the  flashing 
waters,  which  speedily  closed  over  it.  All  remained 
standing  in  irresolution  and  astonishment,  so  high 
was  the  rank,  aud  so  much  esteemed  was  the  cha- 
racter, of  the  culprit;  while  at  the  same  time,  all 
were  conscious  that  the  consequences  of  his  rash  en- 
terprize,  considering  the  views  which  the  King  had 
upon  him,  were  likely  to  end  in  his  utter  ruin. 

Dunois  was  the  first  who  spoke,  and  it  was  in  the 
chiding  tone  of  an  offended,  and  distrusted  friend: — 
"  So!  your  Highness  hath  judged  it  fit  to  cast  away 
your  best  sword,  in  the  same  morning  when  it  was 
your  pleasure  to  fling  away  the  King's  favour,  and 
to  slight  the  friendship  of  Dunois?" 

"  My  dearest  kinsman,"  said  the  Duke,  "  when 
or  how  was  it  in  my  purpose  to  slight  your  friend- 
ship, by  telling  the  truth  when  it  was  due  to  your 
safety  and  my  honour?" 

"What  had  you  to  do  with  my  safety,  my  most 
princely  cousin,  I  would  pray  to  know?"  answered 
Dunois  shortly; — u  What,  in  God's  name,  was  it  to 
you,  if  I  had  a  mind  to  be  hanged,  or  strangled,  or 
flung  into  the  Loire,  or  poniarded,  or  broke  on  the 
wheel,  or  hung  up  alive  in  an  iron  cage,  or  buried 
alive  in  a  castle-fo^se,  or  disposed  of  in  any  other 
way  in  which  it  might  please  King  Louis  to  dispose 
of  his  faithful  subject? — (you  need  not  wink  and 
frown,  and  point  to  Tristan  l'Hermite — I  see  the 
scoundrel  as  well  as  \ou  do.)  But  it  would  not  have 
stood  so  hard  with  me — And  so  much  for  my  safety. 
And  then  for  your  own  honour*— by  the  blush  of 


THE   GUIDE.  235 

Saint  Magdalene,  I  think  the  honour  would  have- 
been  to  have  missed  this  morning's  work,  or  kept  it 
out  of  sight.  Here  has  your  highness  got  yourself 
unhorsed  by  a  wild  Scottish  boy.'' 

u  Tut,  tut!"  said  Lord  Crawford;  M  never  shame 
thee  for  that. — It  is  not  the  first  time  a  Scottish  boy 
hath  broke  a  good  lance — I  am  glad  the  youth  hath 
borne  him  well." 

"  I  will  say  nothing  to  the  contrary,"  said  Dunois; 
"  yet,  had  your  Lordship  come  something  later  than 
you  did,  there  might  have  been  a  vacancy  in  your 
band  of  Archers." 

M  Ay,  ay,"  answered  Lord  Crawford;  "  I  can 
read  your  hand-writing  in  that  cleft  morion. — Some 
one  take  it  from  the  lad,  and  give  him  a  bonnet, 
which,  with  its  steel  lining,  will  keep  his  head  better 
than  that  broken  loom. — And,  Dunois,  I  must  r.ow 
request  the  Duke  of  Orleans  and  you  to  take  horse 
and  accompany  me,  as  I  have  power  and  commission 
to  convey  you  to  a  place  different  from  that  which 
my  good  will  might  assign  you." 

M  May  I  not  speak  one  word,  my  Lord  of  Craw- 
ford, to  yonder  fair  ladies:"  said  the  Duke  of  Or- 
leans. 

u  Not  one  syllable,"  answered  Lord  Crawford; 
"  I  am  too  much  a  friend  of  your  highness,  to  per- 
mit such  an  act  of  folly." — Then  addressing  Quen- 
tin,  he  added,  M  You,  young  man,  have  done  your 
duty.  Go  on  to  obey  the  charge  with  which  you  are 
entrusted." 

"  Under  favour,  my  Lord,"  said  Tristan,  with 
his  usual  brutality  of  manner,  M  the  youth  must 
find  another  guide.  I  cannot  want  Petit- Andre, 
when  there  is  so  like  to  be  business  on  hand  for 
him." 

kk  The  young  man,"  said  Petit-Andre,  now  com- 
ing forward,  u  has  only  to  keep  the  path  which"  lies 
straight  before  him,  and  it  will  conduct  him  to  a 
place  where  he  will  find  the  man  who  is  to  act  as  his 


236  THE   GUIDE. 

guide. — I  would  not  for  a  thousand  ducats  be  absent 
from  my  chief  this  day!  I  have  hanged  knights  and 
squires  many  a  one,  and  wealthy  Echevins,  and 
burgomasters  to  boot— even  counts  and  marquesses 
have  tasted  of  my  handy-work — but,a-humph" 
He  looked  at  the  Duke,  as  if  to  intimate  that  he 
would  have  filled  up  the  blank,  with  "a  Prince  of 
the  blood!" — "  Ho,  ho,  ho!  Petit- Andre,  thou  wilt 
be  read  of  in  Chronicle. " 

44  Do  you  permit  your  ruffians  to  hold  such  lan- 
guage in  such  a  presence?"  said  Crawford,  looking 
sternly  to  Tristan. 

44  Why  do  you  not  correct  him  yourself,  my 
Lord?"  said  Tristan,  sullenly. 

"  Because  thy  hand  is  the  only  one  in  this  com- 
pany that  can  beat  him,  without  being  degraded  by 
such  an  action." 

44  Then  rule  your  own  men,  my  Lord,  and  I 
will  be  answerable  for  mine,"  said  the  Provost-Mar- 
shal. 

Lord  Crawford  seemed  about  to  give  a  passionate 
reply;  but,  as  if  he  had  thought  better  of  it,  turned 
his  back  short  upon  Tristan,  and  requesting  the 
Duke  of  Orleans,  and  Dunois,  to  ride  one  on  either 
hand  of  him,  he  made  a  signal  of  adieu  to  the  ladies, 
and  said  to  Quentin,  "  God  bless  thee,  my  child; 
thou  hast  begun  thy  service  valiantly,  though  in  an 
unhappy  cause."  He  was  about  to  go  off — when 
Quentin  could  hear  Dunois  whisper  to  Crawford, 
u  Do  you  carry  us  to  Plessis?" 

44  No,  my  unhappy  and  rash  friend,"  answered 
Crawford,  with  a  sigh;  44  to  Loches." 

44  To  Loches!"  The  sound  of  a  name  yet  more 
dreaded  than  Plessis  itself,  fell  like  a  death-toll  upon 
the  ear  of  the  young  Scotchman.  He  had  heard  it 
described  as  a  place  destined  to  the  workings  of  those 
secret  acts  of  cruelty  with  which  even  Louis  shamed 
to  pollute  the  interior  of  his  own  residence.  There 
were,  in  this  place  of  terror,  dungeons  under  dun- 


THE   GUIDE.  237 

geons,  some  of  them  unknown  even  to  the  keepers 
themselves;  living  graves,  to  which  men  were  con- 
signed with  little  hope  of  farther  employment  during 
the  rest  of  their  life,  than  to  breathe  impure  air,  and 
feed  on  bread  and  water.  At  this  formidable  castle 
were  also  those  dreadful  places  of  confinement  call- 
ed cages,  in  which  the  wretched  prisoner  could  nei- 
ther stand  upright,  nor  stretch  himself  at  length,  an 
invention,  it  is  said,  of  the  Cardinal  Balue.  It  is  no 
wonder  that  the  name  of  this  place  of  horrors,  and 
the  consciousness  that  he  had  been  partly  the  means 
of  despatcning  thither  two  such  illustrious  victims, 
struck  such  sadness  into  the  heart  of  the  young  Scot, 
that  he  rode  for  some  time  with  his  head  dejected, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  and  his  heart  filled  with 
the  most  painful  reflections. 

As  he  was  now  again  at  the  head  of  the  little  troop, 
and  pursuing  the  road  which  had  been  pointed  out 
to  him,  the  Lady  Hameline  had  an  opportunity  to 
say  to  him, — 

u  Methinks,  fair  sir,  you  regret  the  victory  which 
your  gallantry  has  attained  in  our  behalf?" 

There  was  something  in  the  question  which 
sounded  like  irony,  but  Quentin  had  tact  enough  to 
answer  simply  and  with  sincerity. 

"I  can  regret  nothing  that  is  done  in  the  service 
of  such  ladies  as  you  are;  but,  methinks,  had  it  con- 
sisted with  your  safety,  I  had  rather  have  fallen  by 
the  sword  of  so  good  a  soldier  as  Dunois,  than  have 
been  the  means  of  consigning  that  renowned  knight 
and  his  unhappy  chief,  the  duke  of  Orleans,  to  yon- 
der fearful  dungeons." 

"  It  xvas,  then,  the  Duke  of  Orleans,"  said  the 
elder  lady,  turning  to  her  niece.  "  I  thought  so,  even 
at  the  distance  from  which  we  beheld  the  fray.— You 
see,  kinswoman,  what  we  might  have  been,  had  this 
sly  and  avaricious  monarch  permitted  us  to  be  seen 
at  his  court.  The  first  Prince  of  the  blood  of  France, 
and  the  valiant  Dunois,  whose  name  is  known  as  widt 


238  THE  GUIDE. 

as  that  of  his  heroic  father — This  young  gentleman 
did  his  devoir  bravely  and  well;  but  methinks  'tis 
pity  that  he  did  not  succumb  with  honour,  since  his 
ill-advised  gallantry  has  stood  betwixt  us  and  these 
princely  rescuers." 

The  Countess  Isabelle  replied  in  a  firm  and  almost 
a  displeased  tone;  with  an  energy,  in  short,  which 
Quentin  had  not  yet  seen  her  use. 

"  Madam,"  she  said,"  but  that  I  know  you  jest,  I 
would  say  your  speech  is  ungrateful  to  our  brave  de- 
fender, to  whom  we  owe  more,  perhaps,  than  you 
are  aware  of.  Had  these  gentlemen  succeeded  so  far 
in  that  rash  enterprize  as  to  have  defeated  our  escort, 
is  it  not  still  evident,  that,  on  the  arrival  of  the  Royal 
Guard,  we  must  have  shared  their  captivity?  For 
my  own  part,  I  give  tears,  and  will  soon  bestow 
masses,  on  the  brave  man  who  has  fallen,  and  I  trust 
(she  continued,  more  timidly)  that  he  who  lives  will 
accept  my  grateful  thanks." 

As  Quentin  turned  his  face  towards  her,  to  return 
the  fitting  acknowledgments,  she  saw  the  blood  which 
streamed  down  one  side  of  his  face,  and  exclaimed, 
in  a  tone  of  deep  feeling, "  Holy  Virgin,  he  is  wound- 
ed! he  bleeds! — Dismount,  sir,  and  let  your  wound 
be  bound  up." 

In  spite  of  all  that  Durward  could  say  of  the  slight- 
ness  of  his  hurt,  he  was  compelled  to  dismount,  and 
to  seat  himself  on  a  bank,  and  unhelmet  himself,  while 
the  ladies  of  Croye,  who,  according  to  a  fashion  not 
as  yet  antiquated,  pretended  some  knowledge  of  leech 
craft,  washed  the  wound,  staunched  the  blood,  and 
bound  it  with  the  kerchief  of  the  younger  countess,  in 
order  to  exclude  the  air,  for  so  their  practice  pre- 
scribed. 

In  modern  times,  gallants  seldom  or  never  take 
wounds  for  ladies'  sake,  and  damsels  on  their  side 
never  meddle  with  the  cure  of  wounds.  Each  has 
a  danger  the  less.  That  which  the  men  escape  will 
be  generally  acknowledged;  but  the  peril  of  dressing 


THE  GUIDE.  239 

such  a  slight  wound  as  that  of  Quentin's,  which  in- 
volved nothing  formidable  or  dangerous,  was  perhaps 
as  real  in  its  way  as  that  of  encountering  it. 

We  have  already  said  the  patient  was  eminently 
handsome ;  and  the  removal  of  his  helmet,  or,  more 
properly,  of  his  morion,  had  suffered  his  fair  locks 
to  escape  in  profusion, around  a  countenance  in  which 
the  hilarity  of  youth  was  qualified  by  a  blush  of 
modesty  at  once  and  pleasure.     And  then  the  feel- 
ings of  the  younger  Countess,  when  compelled  to 
hold  the  kerchief  to  the  wound,  while  her  aunt  sought 
in  their  baggage  for  some  vulnerary  remedy,  were 
mingled  at  once  with  a  sense  of  delicacy  and  embar- 
rassment ;  a  thrill  of  pity  for  the  patient,   and  of 
gratitude  for  his  services,  which  exaggerated,  in  her 
eyes,  his  good  mien  and  handsome  features.  In  short, 
this  incident  seemed  intended  by   Fate  to  complete 
the  misterious  communication  which  she   had,   by 
many  petty  and  apparently  accidental  circumstances, 
established  betwixt  two  persons,  who,  though   far 
different  in  rank  and    fortune,  strongly   resembled 
each  other  in  youth,  beauty,  and  the  romantic  ten- 
derness of  an  affectionate  disposition.  It  was  no  won- 
der, therefore,  that  from  this  moment  the  thoughts 
of  the  Countess   Isabtlle,  already  so  familiar  to  his 
imagination,  should  become  paramount  in  Qaentin's 
bosom,  nor  that,  if  the  maiden's  feelings  were  of  a 
less  decided  character,  at  least  so  far  as  known  to 
herself,  she  should  think  of  her  young  defender,  to 
whom  she  had  just  rendered  a  service  so  interesting, 
with  more  emotion  than  of  any  of  the  whole  band 
of  high-born  nobles  who  had  for  two  years  besieged 
her  with   their    adoration.       Above    all,    when  the 
thought  of    Campo-Basso,  the  unworthy  favourite 
of  Duke   Charles,  with  his  hypocritical  mien,   his 
base,  treacherous  spirit,  his  wry  neck,  and  his  squint, 
occurred  to  her,  his  portrait  was  more  disgustingly 
hideous  than  ever,  and  deeply  did  she  resolve  no 


240  THE  GUIDE. 

tyranny  should    make  her   enter  into  so  hateful  a 
union. 

In  the  mean  time,  whether  the  good  Lady  Ha- 
meline  of  Croye  understood  and  admired  mascu- 
line beauty  as  much  as  when  she  was  fifteen  years 
younger,  (for  the  good  Countess  was  at  least  thirty- 
five,  if  the  records  of  that  noble  house  speak  the 
truth,)  or  whether  she  thought  she  had  done  their 
young  protector  less  justice  than  she  ought,  in  the 
first  view  which  she  had  taken  of  his  services,  it  is 
certain  that  he  began  to  find  favour  in  her  eyes. 

"  My  niece,"  she  said,  u  has  bestowed  on  you  a 
kerchief  for  the  binding  of  your  wound;  I  will  give 
you  one  to  grace  your  gallantry,  and  to  encourage 
you  in  your  further  progress  in  chivalry." 

So  saying,  she  gave  him  a  richly  embroidered 
kerchief  of  blue  and  silver,  and  pointing  to  the* 
housing  of  her  palfrey,  and  the  plumes  in  her 
riding-cap,  desired  him  to  observe  that  the  colours 
were  the  same. 

The  fashion  of  the  time  prescribed  one  absolute 
mode  of  receiving  such  a  favour,  which  Quentin 
followed  accordingly,  by  tying  the  napkin  around 
his  arm;  yet  his  manner  of  acknowledgment  h»d 
more  of  awkwardness,  and  less  of  gallantry  in  it, 
than  perhaps  it  might  have  had  at  another  time, 
and  in  another  presence;  for  though  the  wearing  of 
a  lady's  favour,  given  in  such  a  manner,  was  merely 
matter  of  general  compliment,  he  would  much  ra- 
ther have  preferred  the  right  of  displaying  on  his 
arm  that  which  bound  the  wound  inflicted  by  the 
sword  of  Dunois. 

Meantime  they  continued  their  pilgrimage,  Quen- 
tin  now  riding  abreast  of  the  ladies,  into  whose 
society  he  seemed  to  be  tacitly  adopted.  He  did 
not  speak  much,  however,  being  filled  by  the  silent 
consciousness  of  happiness,  which  is  afraid  of  giving 
too  strong  vent  to  its  feelings.  The  Countess  Isa- 
belle  spoke  still  less,  so  that  the  conversation  was 


THE  GUIDE.  241 

chiefly  carried  on  by  the  Lady  Hameline,  who 
showed  no  inclination  to  let  it  drop;  for,  to  initiate 
the  young  Archer,  as  she  said,  into  the  principles 
and  practice  of  chivalry,  she  detailed  to  him,  at  full 
length,  the  Passage  of  Arms  at  Haflinghem,  where 
she  had  distributed  the  prizes  among  the  victors. 

Not  much  interested,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  in  the 
description  of  this  splendid  scene,  or  in  the  he- 
raldric  bearings  of  the  different  Flemish  and  Ger- 
man knights,  which  the  lady  blazoned  with  pitiless 
accuracy,  Quentin  began  to  entertain  some  alarm 
lest  he  should  have  passed  the  place  where  his 
guide  was  to  join  him — a  most  serious  disaster, 
and  from  which,  should  it  really  have  taken  place, 
the  very  worst  consequences  were  to  be  appre- 
hended. 

While  he  hesitated  whether  it  would  be  better  to 
send  back  one  of  his  followers,  to  see  whether  this 
might  not  be  the  case,  he  heard  the  blast  of  a  horn, 
and  looking  in  the  direction  from  which  the  sound 
came,  beheld  a  horseman  riding  very  fast  towards 
them.  The  low  size,  and  wild,  shaggy,  untrained 
state  of  the  animal,  reminded  Quentin  of  the  moun- 
tain breed  of  horses  in  his  own  country;  but  this 
was  much  more  finely  limbed,  and,  with  the  same 
appearance  of  hardness,  was  more  rapid  in  its 
movements.  The  head  particularly,  which,  in  the 
Scottish  poney,  is  often  lumpish  and  heavy,  was 
small  and  well  placed  in  the  neck  of  this  animal, 
with  thin  jaws,  full  sparkling  eyes,  and  expanded 
nostrils. 

The  rider  was  even  more  singular  in  his  appear- 
ance than  the  horse  which  he  rode,  though  that  was 
extremely  unlike  the  horses  of  France.  Although 
he  managed  his  palfrey  with  great  dexterity,  he 
sat  with  his  feet  in  broad  stirrups,  something  re- 
sembling a  shovel,  so  short,  that  his  knees  were 
well  nigh  as  high  as  the  pommel  of  his  saddle.  His 
dress  was  a  red  turban  of  small  size,  in  which  he 

Vol.  I.— 21 


242  THE   GUIDE. 

wore  a  sullied  plume,  secured  by  a  clasp  of  silver; 
his  tunic,  which  was  shaped  like  those  of  the  Estra- 
diots,  a  sort  of  troops  whom  the  Venetians  at  that 
time  levied  in  the  provinces,  on  the  eastern  side  of 
their  gulf,  was  green  in  colour,  and  tawdrily  laced 
with  gold;  he  wore  very  wide  drawers  or  trowsers 
of  white,  though  none  of  the  cleanest,  which  ga- 
thered beneath  the  knee,  and  his  swarthy  legs  were 
quite  bare,  unless  for  the  complicated  laces  which 
bound  a  pair  of  sandals  on  his  feet;  he  had  no  spurs, 
the  edge  of  his  large  stirrups  being  so  sharp  as  to 
serve  to  goad  the  horse  in  a  very  severe  manner. 
In  a  crimson  sash  this  singular  horseman  wore  a 
dagger  on  the  right  side,  and  on  the  left  a  short 
crooked  Moorish  sword,  and  by  a  tarnished  baldrick 
over  the  shoulder  hung  the  horn  which  announced 
his  approach.  He  had  a  swarthy  and  sun-burnt 
visage,  with  a  thin  beard,  and  piercing  dark  eyes, 
a  well-formed  mouth  and  nose,  and  other  features 
which  might  have  been  pronounced  handsome,  but 
for  the  black  elf-locks  which  hung  around  his  face, 
and  the  air  of  wildness  and  emaciation,  which  ra- 
ther seemed  to  indicate  a  savage  than  a  civilized 
man. 

"  He  also  is  a  Bohemian,"  said  the  ladies  to  each 
other;  "  Holy  Mary,  will  the  King  again  place  con- 
fidence in  these  outcasts?" 

w  I  will  question  the  man,  if  it  be  your  pleasure," 
said  Quentin,  "  and  assure  myself  of  his  fidelity  as 
I  best  may." 

Durward,  as  well  as  the  Ladies  of  Croye,  had 
recognized  in  this  man's  dress  and  appearance,  the 
habit  and  the  manners  of  those  vagrants,  with  whom 
he  had  nearly  been  confounded  by  the  hasty  pro- 
ceedings of  Trois-Eschelles  and  Petit  Andre,  and 
he  too  entertained  very  natural  apprehensions  con- 
cerning the  risk  of  reposing  trust  in  one  of  that  va- 
grant race. 


THE   GUIDE.  243 

"  Art  thou  come  hither  to  seek  us?"  was  his  first 
question. 

The  stranger  nodded. 

"And  for  what  purpose?" 

"To  guide  you  to  the  Palace  of  Him  of  Liege." 

"  Of  the  Bishop?" 

The  Bohemian  again  nodded. 

"  What  token  canst  thou  give  me,  that  we  should 
yield  credence  to  thee?" 

"  Even  the  old  rhyme,  and  no  other,"  answered 
the  Bohemian,— 

"  The  page  slew  the  boar, 
The  peer  had  the  gloire." 

"  A  true  token,"  said  Quentin;  "  Lead  on,  good 
fellow — I  will  speak  further  with  thee  presently." 
Then  falling  back  to  the  ladies,  he  said,  "  I  am  con- 
vinced this  man  is  the  guide  we  are  to  expect,  for 
he  hath  brought  me  a  pass-word,  known,  I  think, 
but  to  the  King  and  me.  But  I  will  discourse  with 
him  further,  and  endeavour  to  ascertain  how  far  he 
is  to  be  trusted." 


244  THE  VAGRANT. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  VAGRANT, 

I  am  as  free  as  Nature  first  made  man, 
Ere  the  base  laws  of  servitude  beg-an, 
When  wild  in  woods  the  noble  savage  ran. 

The  Conquest  of  Givnada. 

While  Quentin  held  the  brief  communication 
with  the  ladies  necessary  to  assure  them  that  this 
extraordinary  addition  to  their  party  was  the  guide 
whom  they  were  to  expect  on  the  King's  part,  he 
noticed,  (for  he  was  as  alert  in  observing  the  mo- 
tions of  the  stranger,  as  the  Bohemian  could  be  on 
his  part,)  that  the  man  not  only  turned  his  head  as 
far  back  as  he  could,  to  peer  at  them,  but  that,  with 
a  singular  sort  of  agility,  more  resembling  that  of 
a  monkey  than  of  a  man,  he  had  screwed  his  whole 
person  around  on  the  saddle,  so  as  to  sit  almost 
sidelong  upon  the  horse,  for  the  convenience,  as  it 
seemed,  of  watching  them  more  attentively. 

Not  greatly  pleased  with  this  manoeuvre,  Quen- 
tin rode  up  to  the  Bohemian,  and  said  to  him,  as 
he  suddenly  assumed  his  proper  position  on  the 
horse,  "  Methinks,  friend,  you  will  prove  but  a 
blind  guide,  if  you  look  at  the  tail  of  your  horse  ra- 
ther than  his  ears." 

41  And  if  I  were  actually  blind,"  answered  the  Bo- 
hemian, "  I  could  guide  you  through  any  county 
in  this  realm  of  France,  or  in  those  adjoining  to  it." 

u  Yet  you  are  no  Frenchman  born,"  said  the 
Scot. 

44  I  am  not,"  answered  the  guide. 

44  What  countryman,  then,  are  you?"  demanded 
Quentin. 

44  I  am  of  no  country,"  answered  the  guide* 

44  How!  of  no  country?"  repeated  the  Scot. 


THE  VAGRANT.  245 

"  No,"  answered  the  Bohemian,  "  of  none.  I  am 
a  Zingaro,  a  Bohemian,  an  Egyptian,  or  whatever 
the  Europeans,  in  ..heir  different  languages,  may 
choose  to  call  our  people;   but  I  ha*  e  no  country." 

"  Are  you  a  Christian?"  asked  the  Scotchman. 

The  Bohemian  shook  his  head. 

"  Dog,"  said  Qlu  ntin,  (tor  there  was  little  tole- 
ration in  the  spirit  of  Catholicism  in  those  days,) 
"  doest  thou  worship  Mahoun?" 

H  No,"  was  the  indifferent  and  concise  answer  of 
the  guide,  who  neither  seemed  offended  nor  surpris- 
ed at  the  young  man's  violence  of  manner. 

"  Are  you  a  Pagan,  then,  or  what  are  you?" 

"  I  have  no  religion,"  answered  the  Bohemian. 

Durward  started  back;  for,  though  he  had  heard 
of  Saracens  and  Idolaters,  it  had  never  entered  into 
his  ideas  or  belief,  that  any  body  of  men  could  exist 
who  practised  no  mode  of  worship  whatsoever.  He 
recovered  from  his  astonishment,  to  ask  where  his 
guide  usually  dwelt. 

"  Wherever  I  chance  to  be  for  the  time,"  replied 
the  Bohemian.  "  I  have  no  home." 

"  How  do  you  guard  your  property?" 

u  Excepting  the  clothes  which  I  wear,  and  the 
horse  I  ride  on,  I  have  no  property." 

u  Yet  you  dress  gaily,  and  ride  gallantly,"  said 
Durward.   "  What  are  your  means  of  subsistence?" 

u  I  eat  when  I  am  hungry,  drink  when  I  am 
thirsty,  and  have  no  other  means  of  subsistence 
than  chance  throws  in  my  way,"  replied  the  vaga- 
bond. 

"  Under  whose  laws  do  you  live?" 

u  I  acknowledge  obedience  to  none,  but  as  it  suits 
my  pleasure,"  said  the  Bohemian. 

44  Who  is  your  leader,  and  commands  you?" 

u  The  Father  of  our  tribe — if  I  choose  to  obey 
him,"  said  the  guide—*1  otherwise  I  have  no  com- 
mander." 

u  You   are   then,"    said  the  wondering  querist, 
21* 


246  THE  VAGRANT. 

44  destitute  of  all  that  other  men  are  combined  by — 
yon  have  no  law,  no  leader,  no  settled  means  of  sub- 
sistence, no  house  or  home.  You  have,  may  Heaven 
compassionate  you,  no  country — and,  may  Heaven 
enlighten  and  forgive  you,  you  have  no  God!  What 
is  it  that  remains  to  you,  deprived  of  government, 
domestic  happiness,  and  religion?" 

44  I  have  liberty,"  said  the  Bohemian — a  I  crouch 
to  no  one — obey  no  one — respect  no  one. — I  go 
where  I  will — live  as  I  can — and  die  when  my  day 
comes." 

44  But  you  are  subject  to  instant  execution  at  the 
pleasure  of  the  Judge." 

u  Be  it  so,"  returned  the  Bohemian;  "  I  can  but 
die  so  much  the  sooner." 

44  And  to  imprisonment  also,"  said  the  Scot;  "  and 
where,  then,  is  your  boasted  freedom?" 

44  In  my  thoughts,"  said  the  Bohemian,  "  which  no 
chains  can  bind;  while  yours,  even  when  your  limbs 
are  free,  remain  fettered  by  your  laws  and  your  su- 
perstitions, your  dreams  of  local  attachment,  and 
your  fantastic  visions  of  civil  policy.  Such  as  I  are 
free  in  spirit  when  our  limbs  are  chained — You  are 
imprisoned  in  mind,  even  when  your  limbs  are  most 
at  freedom." 

44  Yet  the  freedom  of  your  thoughts,"  said  the 
Scot,  u  relieves  not  the  pressure  of  the  gyves  on  your 
limbs." 

44  For  a  brief  time  that  may  be  endured;  and  if 
within  that  period  I  cannot  extricate  myself,  and  fail 
of  relief  from  my  comrades,  I  can  always  die,  and 
death  is  the  most  perfect  freedom  of  all." 

There  was  a  deep  pause  of  some  duration,  which 
Quentin  at  length  broke  by  resuming  his  queries. 

44  Your's  is  a  wandering  race,  unknown  to  the 
nations  of  Europe — Whence  do  they  derive  their 
origin?" 

44  I  may  not  tell  you,"  answered  the  Bohemian. 
44  When  will  they  relieve  this  kingdom  from  their 


THE  VAGRANT.  247 

presence,  and  return  to  the  land  from  whence  they 
came  ?"  said  the  Scot. 

"  When  the  day  of  their  pilgrimage  shall  be  ac- 
complished," replied  his  vagrant  guide. 

u  Are  you  not  sprung  from  those  tribes  of  Israel 
which  were  carried  into  captivity  beyond  the  great 
river  Euphrates  ?"  said  Quentin,  who  had  not  for- 
gotten the  lore  which  had  been  taught  him  at  Aber- 
brothock. 

41  Had  we  been  so,"  answered  the  Bohemian, 
"  we  had  followed  their  faith,  and  practised  their 
rites." 

u  What  is  thine  own  name?"  said  Durward. 

"  My  proper  name  is  only  known  to  mv  brethren 

— The  men  beyond   our   tents   call  me    Hayraddin 

Maugrabin,  that  is,  Hayraddin  the  African  Moor.*5 

u  Thou  spcakest  too  well   for  one  who  hath  lived 

always  in  ths  filthy  horde,"  said  the  Scot. 

"  I  have  learned  some  of  the  knowledge  of  this 
land,"  said  Hayraddin  — u  When  I  was  a  little  bov, 
our  tribe  was  chased  by  the  hunters  after  human 
flesh.  An  arrow  went  through  my  mother's  head, 
and  she  died.  I  was  entangled  in  the  blanket  on 
her  shoulders,  and  was  taken  by  the  pursuers.  A 
priest  begged  me  from  the  Provost's  archers,  and 
trained  me  up  in  Frankish  learning  for  two  or  three 
years." 

"  How  came  you  to  part  with  him  ?"  demanded 
Durward. 

"  I  stole  money  from  him — even  the  God  which 
he  worshipped,"  answered  Hayraddin,  with  perfect 
composure;  "he  detected  me,  and  beat  me — I  stab- 
bed him  with  my  knife,  fled  to  the  woods,  and  was 
again  united  to  my  people." 

"  Wretch !"  said  Durward,  "did  you  murder  your 
benefactor  ?" 

w  What  had  he  to  do  to  burden  me  with  his 
benefics  ? — The  Zingaro  boy  was  no  house-bred  cur 
to  dog  the  heels  of  his  master,  and  crouch  beneath 


243  THE   VAGRANT. 

his  blows,  for  scraps  of  food — He  was  the  impri- 
soned wolf-welp,  which  at  the  first  opportunity  broke 
his  chain,  rended  his  master,  and  returned  to  his 
wilderness." 

There  was  another  pause,  when  the  young  Scot, 
with  a  view  of  still  farther  investigating  the  character 
and  purpose  of  this  suspicious  guide,  asked  Hay- 
raddin,  u  Whether  it  was  not  true  that  his  people, 
amid  their  ignorance,  pretended  to  a  knowledge  of 
futurity,  which  was  not  given  to  the  sages,  philoso- 
phers, and  divines,  of  more  polished  societv  ?" 

"  We  pretend  to  it,"  said  Hayraddin,  "and  it  is 
with  justice." 

"  How  can  it  be  that  so  high  a  gift  is  bestowed  on 
so  abject  a  race  ?"  said  Quentm. 

"  Can  I  tell  you?"  answered  Hayraddin — "  Yes, 
I  may  indeed  ;  but  it  is  when  you  shall  explain  to 
me  why  the  dog  can  trace  the  footsteps  of  a  man, 
while  man,  the  nobler  animal,  hath  no  power  to  trace 
those  of  the  dog.  These  powers,  which  seem  to  you 
so  wonderful,  are  instinctive  in  our  race.  From  the 
lines  on  the  face  and  on  the  hand,  we  can  tell  the 
future  fate  of  those  who  consult  us,  even  as  surely 
as  you  know  from  the  blossom  of  the  tree  in  spring, 
what  fruit  it  will  bear  in, the  harvest." 

"  I  doubt  of  your  knowledge,  and  defy  you  to  the 
proof." 

"  Defy  me  not,  Sir  Squire,"  said  Maugrabin  Hay- 
raddin— "  I  can  tell  thee,  that,  sav  what  you  will  of 
youi  religion,  the  Goddess  whom  you  worship  rides 
in  this  company." 

"  Peac.  !"  said  Quentin,in  astonishment;  "on  thy 
life,  not  a  nord  farther,  but  in  answer  to  what  I 
ask  thee — Can'st  thou  be  faithful  ?" 

"  I  can — til  men  can,"  said  the  Bohemian. 

"  Bit  wilt  thou  be  faithful  ?" 

"  Would'st  thou  believe  me  the  more  should  I 
swear  it?"  answered  Maugrabin,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Thy  life  is  in  my  hand,"  said  the  young  Scot. 


THE  VAGRANT.  249 

4i  Strike,  and  see  whether  I  fear  to  die,"  answered 
the  Bohemian. 

"  Will  money  render  thee  a  trusty  guide  ?"  de- 
manded Durward. 

"  If  I  be  not  such  without  it,  No,"  replied  the 
heathen. 

"  Then  what  will  bind  thee?"  asked  the  Scot. 

"  Kindness,"  replied  the  Bohemian. 

"  Shall  I  swear  to  show  thee  such,  if  thou  art  true 
guide  to  us  on  this  pilgrimage?" 

"  No,"  replied  Hayraddin,  "  it  were  extravagant 
waste  of  a  commodity  so  rare. — To  thee  I  am  bound 
already." 

"  How?"  exclaimed  Durward,  more  surprised 
than  ever. 

"Remember  the  chesnut-trees  on  the  banks  of  the 
Cher!  The  victim,  whose  body  thou  didst  cut  dovyn, 
was  my  brother,  Zamet  the  Maugrabin." 

44  And  yet,"  said  Quentin,  4- 1  find  you  in  corres- 
pondence with  those  very  officers  by  whom  your 
brother  was  done  to  death;  for  it  was  one  of  them 
who  directed  me  where  to  meet  with  you — the  same, 
doubtless,  who  procured  yonder  ladies  your  services 
as  a  guide." 

."  What  can  we  do?"  answered  Hayraddin, 
gloomily — u  These  men  deal  with  us  as  the  sheep- 
dogs do  with  the  flock;  they  protect  us  for  a  while, 
drive  us  hither  and  thither  at  their  pleasure,  and 
always  end  by  guiding  us  to  the  shambles." 

Quentin  had  afterwards  occasion  to  learn  that  the 
Bohemian  spoke  truth  in  this  particular,  and  that 
the  Provost  guard,  employed  to  suppress  the  vaga- 
bond bands  by  which  the  kingdom  was  infested,  en- 
tertained correspondence  amongst  them,  and  forbore, 
for  a  certain  time,  the  exercise  of  their  duty,  which 
always  at  last  ended  in  conducting  their  allies  to  the 
gallows.  This  is  a  sort  of  political  relation  between 
thief  and  officer,  for  the  profitable  exercise  of  their 


250  THE  VAGRANT. 

mutual  professions,  which  has  subsisted  in  all  coun- 
tries, and  is  by  no  means  unknown  to  our  own. 

Durward,  parting  from  the  guide,  fell  back  to  the 
rest  of  the  retinue,  very  little  satisfied  with  the  char- 
acter of  Hayraddin,  and  entertaining  little  confidence 
in  the  professions  of  gratitude  which  he  had  person- 
ally made  to  him.  He  proceeded  to  sound  the  other 
two  men  who  had  been  assigned  him  for  attendants, 
and  he  was  concerned  to  find  them  stupid,  and  as 
unfit  to  assist  him  with  counsel,  as  in  the  rencounter 
they  had  shown  themselves  reluctant  to  use  their 
weapons. 

"  It  is  all  the  better,"  said  Quentin  to  himself, 
his  spirit  rising  with  the  apprehended  difficulties  of 
his  situation;  u  that  lovely  young  lady  shall  owe  all 
to  me. — What  one  hand — ay,  and  one  head  can  do, 
— methinks  I  can  boldly  count  upon.  I  have  seen 
my  father's  house  on  fire,  and  him  and  my  brothers 
lying  dead  among  the  flames— I  gave  not  an  inch 
back,  but  fought  it  out  to  the  last.  Now  I  am  two 
years  older,  and  have  the  best  and  fairest  cause  to 
bear  me  well,  that  ever  kindled  mettle  within  a  brave 
man's  bosom." 

Acting  upon  this  resolution,  the  attention  and  ac- 
tivity which  Quentin  bestowed  during  the  journey, 
had  in  it  something  that  gave  him  the  appearance  of 
ubiquity.  His  principal  and  most  favourite  post  was 
of  course  by  the  side  of  the  ladies;  who,  sensible  of 
his  extreme  attention  to  their  safety,  began  to  con- 
verse with  him  in  almost  the  tone  of  familiar  friend- 
ship, and  appeared  to  take  great  pleasure  in  the  nai- 
vete,  yet  shrewdness,  of  his  conversation.  Yet 
Quentin  did  not  suffer  the  fascination  of  this  inter- 
course to  interfere  with  the  vigilant  discharge  of  his 
duty. 

If  he  was  often  by  the  side  of  the  Countesses, 
labouring  to  describe  to  the  natives  of  a  level  coun- 
try the  Grampian  mountains,  and,  above  all,  the 
beauties  of  Glen-IIouiakin, — he  was  as  often  riding 


THE    VAGRANT.  251 

with  Hayraddin,  in  the  front  of  the  little  cavalcade, 
questioning  him  about  the  road,  and  the  resting-pla- 
ces, and  recording  his  answers  in  his  mind,  to  ascer- 
tain whether  upon  cross-examination  he  could  discov- 
er any  thing  like  meditated  treachery.  As  often  he 
was  in  the  rear,  endeavouring  to  secure  the  attach- 
ment of  the  two  horsemen,  by  kind  words,  gifts,  and 
promises  of  additional  recompense,  when  their  task 
should  be  accomplished. 

In  this  way  they  travelled  for  more  than  a  week, 
through  bye-paths  and  unfrequented  districts,  and 
by  circuitous  routes,  in  order  to  avoid  large  to-.v^s. 
Nothing  remarkable  occurred,  though  they  now  and 
then  met  stroling  gangs  of  Bohemians,  who  respect- 
ed them,  as  under  the  conduct  of  one  of  their  tribe, 
—-straggling  soldiers,  or  perhaps  banditti,  who  deem- 
ed their  party  too  strong  to  be  attacked, — or  parties  of 
the  Marechaussee,  as  they  would  now  be  termed, 
whom  Louis,  who  searched  the  wounds  of  the  land 
with  steel  and  cautery,  employed  to  suppress  the  dis- 
orderly bands  which  infested  the  interior.  These 
last  suffered  them  to  pursue  their  way  unmolested, 
by  virtue  of  a  password,  with  which  Quentin  had 
been  furnished  for  that  purpose  by  the  king  himself. 

Their  resting  places  were  chiefly  the  monasteries, 
most  of  which  were  obliged  by  the  rules  of  their 
foundation  to  receive  pilgrims,  under  which  charac- 
ter the  ladies  travelled,  with  hospitality,  and  without 
any  troublesome  inquiries  into  their  rank  and  cha- 
racter, which  most  persons  of  distinction  were  de- 
sirous of  concealing  while  in  the  discharge  of  their 
vows.  The  pretence  of  weariness  was  usually  em- 
ployed by  the  Countesses  of  Croye,  as  an  excuse  for 
instantly  retiring  to  rest,  and  Quentin,  as  their  Ma- 
jor Domo,  arranged  all  that  was  necessary  betwixt 
thtm  and  their  entertainers,  with  a  shrewdness  which 
saved  them  all  trouble,  and  an  alacrity  that  failed 
not  to  excite  a  corresponding  degree  of  good  will  on 


252  THE  VAGRANT. 

the  part  of  those  who  were  thus  sedulously  attended 
to. 

One  circumstance  gave  Quentin  peculiar  trouble, 
which  was  the  character   and   nation   of  his   guide; 
who,  as  a  heathen,  and  an  infidel  vagabond,  addict- 
ed besides  to  occult  arts,  (the  badge  of  all  his  tribe,) 
was  looked  upon  as  a  very  improper  guest  for  the 
holy  resting-places  at    which  the   company   usually 
halted,  and  was  with  the  utmost  reluctance  admitted 
within  even  the  outer  circuit  of   their  walls.    This 
was  very  embarrassing;  for,  on  the  one  hand,  it  was 
necessary  to  keep  in   good  humour  a  man  who  was 
possessed  of  the  secret  of  their  expedition;  and  on 
the  other,  Quentin  deemed  it  indispensable  to  main- 
tain a  vigilant  though  secret  watch  on  Hayraddin's 
conduct,  in  order  that,  as  far  as  might  be,  he  should 
hold  no  communication  with  any  one  without  being 
observed.    This  of  course  was  impossible,  if  the  Bo- 
hemian was  lodged  without  the  precincts  of  the  con- 
vent at  which  they  stopped,  and  Durward  could  not 
help  thinking  that  Hayraddin  was  desirous  of  bring- 
ing  about   this   latter   arrangement;   for,  instead  of 
keeping  himself  still  and  quiet  in  the  quarters  allot- 
ted to  him,  his  conversation,  tricks,  and  songs,  were, 
at  the  same  time,  so  entertaining  to  the  novices  and 
younger  brethren,   and  so  unedifying  in  the  opinion 
of  the  seniors  of  the  fraternity,  that,  in  more   cases 
than  one,  it  required  all  the  authority,  supported  by 
threats,  which  Quentin  could  exert  over  him,  to  re- 
strain his  irreverent  and  untimeous  jocularity,  and 
all  the  interest  he  could  make  with  tne  Superiors,  to 
prevent  the  heathen  hound  from  being  thrust  out  of 
doors.   He  succeeded,  however,  by  the  adroit  manner 
in  which  he  apologized  for  the  indecorums  commit- 
ted by  their  attendant,  and  the  skill  with  which  he 
hinted  the  hope  of  his  being  brought   to  a  better 
sense  of  principles  and  behaviour,  by  the  neighbour- 
hood of  holy  reliques,   consecrated  buildings,  and, 
above  all,  of  men  dedicated  to  religion. 


THE  VAGRANT.  253 

But  upon  the  tenth  or  twelfth  day  of  their  jour- 
ney, after  they  had  entered  Flanders,  and  were  ap- 
proaching the  town  of  Namur,  all  the  efforts  of 
Quentin  became  inadequate  to  suppress  the  conse- 
quences of  the  scandal  given  by  his  heathen  guide. 
The  scene  was  a  Franciscan  convent,  and  of  a  strict 
and  reformed  order,  and  the  Prior  a  man  who  after- 
wards died  in  the  odour  of  sanctity.  After  rather 
more  than  the  usual  scruples,  (which  were  indeed  in 
such  a  case  to  be  expected,)  had  been  surmounted, 
the  obnoxious  Bohemian  at  length  obtained  quarters 
in  an  out- house  inhabited  by  a  lay-brother,  who  act- 
ed as  gardener.  The  ladies  retired  to  their  apart- 
ment as  usual,  and  the  Prior,  who  chanced  to  have 
some  distant  alliances  and  friends  in  Scotland,  and 
who  was  fond  of  hearing  foreigners  tell  of  their  na- 
tive countries,  invited  Quentin,  with  whose  mien 
and  conduct  he  seemed  much  pleased,  to  a  slight 
monastic  refection  in  his  own  cell.  Finding  the  Fa- 
ther a  man  of  intelligence,  Quentin  did  not  neglect 
the  opportunity  of  making  himself  acquainted  with 
the  state  of  affairs  in  the  country  of  Liege,  of  which, 
during  the  last  two  days  of  their  journey,  he  had 
heard  such  reports,  as  made  him  very  apprehensive 
for  the  security  of  his  charge  during  the  remainder 
of  their  route,  nay,  even  of  the  Bishop's  power  to 
protect  them,  when  they  should  be  safely  conducted 
to  his  residence.  The  replies  of  the  Prior  were  not 
very  consolatory. 

He  said,  that  "  the  people  of  Liege  were  wealthy 
burghers,  who,  like  Jehurun  of  old,  had  waxed  fat 
and  kicked — that  they  were  uplifted  in  heart  be- 
cause of  their  wealth  and  their  privileges — that  they 
had  divers  disputes  with  the  Duke  of  Burgundy, 
their  liege  lord,  upon  the  subject  of  imposts  and 
immunities — and  that  they  had  repeatedly  broken 
out  into  open  mutiny,  whereat  the  Duke  was  so 
much  incensed,  as  being  a  man  of  a  hot  and  fiery 
nature,  that  he  had  sworn,  by  Saint  George,  on  the 

Vol.  I — 22 


254  THE  VAGRANT. 

next  provocation,  he  would  make  the  city  of  Liege 
like  to  the  desolation  of  Babylon,  and  the  downfall 
of  Tyre,  a  hissing  and  a  reproach  to  the  whole  terri- 
tory of  Flanders." 

"  And  he  is  a  prince,  by  all  report,  like  to  keep 
such  a  vow,'  said  Quentin;  "so  the  men  of  Liege 
will  probably  beware  how  they  give  him  occasion." 
"It  were  to  be  so  hoped,"  said  the  Prior;  "and 
such  are  the  prayers  of  the  godly  in  the  land,  who 
would  not  that  man's  blood  were  poured  forth  like 
water,  and  that  they  should  perish,  even  as  utter 
castaways,  ere  they  make  their  peace  with  Heaven. 
Also  the  good  Bishop  labours  night  and  day  to 
preserve  peace,  as  well  becometh  a  servant  of  the 
altar,  for  it  is  written  in  holy  scripture,  Beati  pad- 
Jici.  But"— here  the  good  Prior  stopped  with  a 
deep  sigh. 

Quentin  modestly  urged  the  great  importance  of 
which  it  was  to  the  ladies  whom  he  attended,  to 
have  some  assured  information  respecting  the  inter- 
nal state  of  the  country,  and  what  an  act  of  Chris- 
tian charity  it  would  be,  if  the  worthy  and  reverend 
Father  would  enlighten  them  upon  that  subject. 

"  It  is  one,"  said  the  Prior,  "  on  which  no  man 
speaks  with  willingness;  for  those  who  speak  evil 
of  the  powerful,  etiam  in  cubiculo,  may  find  that  a 
winged  thing  shall  carry  the  matter  to  his  ears. 
Nevertheless,  to  render  you,  who  seem  an  ingenu- 
ous youth,  and  your  ladies,  who  are  devout  vota- 
resses accomplishing  a  holy  pilgrimage,  the  little 
service  that  is  in  my  power,  I  will  be  plain  with 
you." 

He  then  looked  cautiously  round,  and  lowered 
his  voice,  as  if  afraid  of  being  overheard. 

"  The  people  of  Liege,"  he  said,  "  are  privily  in- 
stigated to  their  frequent  mutinies  by  men  of  Be- 
lial, who  pretend,  but,  as  I  hope,  falsely,  to  have 
commission  to  that  effect  from  our  most  Christian 
King;  whom,  however,  I  hold  to  deserve  that  term 


THE  VAGRANT.  25$ 

better  than  were  consistent  with  his  thus  disturbing 
the  peace  of  a  neighbouring  state.  Yet  so  it  is,  that 
his  name  is  freely  used  by  those  who  uphold  and 
inflame  the  discontents  at  Liege.  There  is,  more- 
over, in  the  land,  a  nobleman  of  good  descent,  and 
fame  in  warlike  affairs;  but  otherwise,  so  to  speak, 
Lapis  cffensionis  et  petra  scandali,—?i  stumbling- 
block  of  offence  to  the  countries  of  Burgundy  and 
Flanders.  His  name  is  William  de  la  Marck." 

"  Called  William  with  the  Beard,7'  said  the  young 
Scotchman,  "or  the  Wild  Boar  of  Ardennes?" 

"  And  rightly  so  called,  my  son,"  said  the  Prior; 
"  because  he  is  as  the  wild  boar  of  the  forest,  which 
treadeth  down  with  his  hoofs,  and  rendeth  with  his 
tusks.  And  he  hath  formed  to  himself  a  band  of 
more  than  a  thousand  men,  all,  like  himself,  con- 
temners of  civil  and  ecclesiastical  anthority,  and 
holds  himself  independent  of  the  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy, and  maintains  himself  and  his  followers  by- 
rapine  and  wrong,  wrought  without  distinction, 
upon  churchmen  and  laymen.  Imposuit  manus  in 
Christos  Domini^ — he  hath  stretched  forth  his  hand 
upon  the  anointed  of  the  Lord,  regardless  of  what 
is  written, — 'Touch  not  mine  anointed,  and  do  my 
prophets  no  wrong.'  Even  to  our  poor  house  did 
he  send  for  sums  of  gold  and  sums  of  silver,  as  a 
ransom  for  our  lives  and  those  of  our  brethren;  to 
which  we  returned  a  Latin  supplication,  stating 
our  inability  to  answer  his  demand,  and  exhorting 
him  in  the  words  of  the  preacher,  Ne  moliaris  amico 
tuo,  malum  cum  habet  in  te  jiduciam.  Nevertheless, 
this  Gulielmus  Barbatus,  this  William  de  la  Marck, 
as  completely  ignorant  of  humane  letters  as  of  hu- 
manity itself,  replied,  in  his  ridiculous  jargon,  4  Si 
*,r^  j^~i,r,ti^  hrulabo  monasterium  vestrum.yr 

"  Of  which  rude  .Latin,  however,  yuu  my  good 
father,  were  at  no  loss  to  conceive  the  interpre- 
tation?" 

"  Alas,  my  son,"  said  the  Prior,  "  Fear  and  Ne- 


256  THE  VAGRANT. 

cessity  are  shrewd  interpreters;  and  we  were  ob- 
liged to  melt  down  the  silver  vessels  of  our  altar  to 
satisfy  the  rapacity  of  this  cruel  chief.  May  heaven 
requite  it  to  him  seven-fold!  Pereat  improbus — 
Amen,  amen,  anathema  esto.'" 

"  I  marvel,"  said  Quentin,  "  that  the  Duke  of 
Burgundy,  who  is  so  strong  and  powerful,  doth  not 
bait  this  boar,  of  whose  ravages  I  have  already  heard 
so  much." 

"  Alas !  my  son,"  said  the  Prior,  "  he  is  now  at 
Peronne,  assembling  his  captains  of  hundreds  and 
his  captains  of  thousands,  to  make  war  against 
France;  and  thus,  while  Heaven  hath  set  discord  be- 
tween the  hearts  of  those  great  princes,  the  country 
is  misused  by  such  subordinate  oppressors.  But  it 
is  in  evil  time  that  the  Duke  neglects  the  cure  of 
these  internal  gangrenes  ;  for  this  William  de  la 
Marck  hath  of  late  entertained  open  communication 
with  Rouslaer  and  Pavilion,  the  chiefs  of  the  dis- 
contented at  Liege,  and  it  is  to  be  feared  he  will 
soon  stir  them  up  to  some  desperate  enterprize." 

"  But  the  Bishop  of  Liege,"  said  Quentin,  "  he 
hath  still  power  to  subdue  this  disquiet  and  turbu- 
lent -pirit — hath  he  not,  good  father? — Your  answer 
to  this  question  concerns  me  much." 

"The  Bishop,  my  child,"  replied  the  Prior,  "  hath 
the  sword  of  Saint  Peter,  as  well  as  the  keys.  He 
hath  power  as  a  secular  prince,  and  he  hath  the 
powerful  protection  of  the  House  of  Burgundy;  he 
hath  also  spiritual  authority  as  a  prelate,  and  he  sup- 
ports both  with  a  reasonable  force  of  good  soldiers 
and  men-at-arms.  This  William  de  la  Marck  was 
bred  in  his  household,  and  bound  to  him  by  many 
benefits.  But  he  gave  vent,  even  in  the  court  of 
the  Bishop,  to  his  fu-r^p  <>«ri  ki-~-i  ^  ---v  *~^*p*«? 
and  was  expelled  thence  for  a  homicide,  committed 
on  one  of  the  Bishop's  chief  domestics.  From 
thenceforward,  being  banished  from  the  good  Pre- 
late's presence,  he  hath  been  his  constant  and  unre- 


THE    VAGRANT.  257 

lenting  foe;  and  now,  I  grieve  to  say,  he  hath  girded 
his  loins,  and  strengthened  his  horn  against  him." 

14  You  consider,  then,  the  situation  of  the  worthy 
Prelate  as  being  dangerous,"  said  Quentin,  very 
anxiously. 

"  Alas!  my  son,"  said  the  good  Franciscan,  "what 
or  who  is  there  in  this  weary  wilderness,  whom  we 
may  not  hold  as  in  danger?  But  heaven  forefend,  I 
should  speak  of  the  reverend  Prelate  as  one  whose 
peril  is  imminent.  He  has  much  treasure,  true 
counsellors,  and  brave  soldiers;  and,  moreover,  a 
messenger  who  passed  hitherto  the  eastward  yester- 
day, saith  that  the  Duke  hath  despatched,  upon  the 
Bishop's  request,  an  hundred  men-at-arms,  who, 
with  the  retinue  belonging  to  each  lance,  are  enough 
to  deal  with  William  de  la  Marck,  on  whose  name 
be  sorrow! — Amen." 

At  this  crisis  their  conversation  was  interrupted 
by  the  Sacristan,  who,  in  a  voice  almost  inarticulate 
with  anger,  accused  the  Bohemian  of  having  prac- 
tised the  most  abominable  arts  of  delusion  among 
the  younger  brethren.  He  had  added  to  their  nightly 
meal  cups  of  a  heady  and  intoxicating  cordial,  of  ten 
times  the  strength  of  the  most  powerful  wine,  under 
which  several  of  the  fraternity  had  succumbed, — 
and  indeed,  although  the  Sacristan  had  been  strong 
to  resist  its  influence,  they  might  yet  see,  from  his 
inflamed  countenance  and  thick  speech,  that  even  he, 
the  accuser  himself,  was  in  some  degree  affected  by 
this  unhallowed  potation.  Moreover,  the  Bohemian 
had  sung  songs  of  worldly  vanity  and  impure  plea- 
sures; he  had  derided  the  cord  of  Saint  Francis, 
made  jest  of  his  miracles,  and  termed  his  votaries 
fools  and  lazy  knaves.  Lastly,  he  had  practised 
palmistry,  and  foretold  to  the  young  Father  Cheru- 
bin,  that  he  was  beloved  by  a  beautiful  lady,  who 
should  make  him  father  to  a  thriving  boy." 

The  Father  Prior  listened  to  these  complaints  for 
some  time  in  silence,  as  struck  with  mute  horror  by 
22* 


258  the  vagrant. 

their  enormous  atrocity.  When  the  Sacristan  had 
concluded,  he  rose  up,  descended  to  the  court  of  the 
convent,  and  ordered  the  lay  brethren,  on  pain  of  the 
worst  consequences  of  spiritual  disobedience,  to  beat 
Hayraddin  out  of  the  sacred  precincts,  with  their 
broom  staves  and  cart-whips. 

This  sentence  was  executed  accordingly,  in  the 
presence  of  Quentin  Durward,  who,  ho  vvsoe ver  vexed 
at  the  occurrence,  easily  saw  that  his  interference 
would  be  of  no  avail. 

The  discipline  inflicted  upon  the  delinquent,  not- 
withstanding the  exhortations  of  the  Superior,  was 
more  ludicrous1  than  formidable.  The  Bohemian 
ran  hither  and  thither  through  the  court,  amongst 
the  clamour  of  voices,  and  noise  of  blows,  some  of 
which  reached  him  not,  because  purposely  mis- 
aimed;  others,  designed  for  his  person,  were  eluded 
by  his  activity;  and  the  few  that  fell  upon  his  back 
and  shoulders,  he  took  without  either  complaint  or  re- 
ply. The  noise  and  riot  was  the  greater,  that  the 
inexperienced  cudgel-players,  among  whom  Hayrad- 
din ran  the  gauntlet,  hit  each  other  more  frequently 
than  they  did  him,  till  at  length,  desirous  of  ending 
a  scene  which  was  more  scandalous  than  edifying, 
the  Prior  commanded  the  wicket  to  be  flung  open, 
and  the  Bohemian,  darting  through  it  with  the  speed 
of  lightning,  fled  forth  into  the  moonlight. 

During  this  scene,  a  suspicion  which  Durward 
had  formerly  entertained,  recurred  with  additional 
strength.  Hayraddin  had,  that  very  morning,  pro- 
mised to  him  more  modest  and  discreet  behaviour 
than  he  was  wont  to  exhibit,  when  they  rested  in  a 
convent  on  their  journey;  yet  he  had  broken  his  en- 
gagement, and  had  been  even  more  offensively  ob- 
streperous than  usual.  Something  probably  lurked 
under  this;  for  whatever  were  the  Bohemian's  de- 
ficiencies, he  lacked  neither  sense,  nor,  when  he 
pleased,  self-command;  and  might  it  not  be  probable 
that  he  wished  to  hold  some  communication,  either 


THE  ESPIED  SPY.  259 

with  his  own  horde  or  some  one  else,  from  which  he 
was  debarred  in  the  course  of  the  day,  by  the  vigi- 
lance with  which  he  was  watched  by  Quentin,  and 
had  recourse  to  this  stratagem  in  order  to  get  him- 
self turned  out  of  the  convent? 

No  sooner  did  this  suspicion  dart  once  more 
through  Quentin's  mind,  than,  alert  as  he  always 
was  in  his  motions,  he  resolved  to  follow  his  cudgel- 
led guide,  and  observe  (secretly  if  possible)  how 
he  disposed  of  himself.  Accordingly,  when  the  Bo- 
hemian fled,  as  already  mentioned,  out  at  the  gate 
of  the  convent,  Quentin,  hastily  explaining  to  the 
Prior  the  necessity  of  keeping  sight  of  his  guide, 
followed  in  pursuit  of  him. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


THE  ESPIED  SPY. 


What,  the  rude  ranger?  and  spied  spy? — hands  off— ■ 
You  are  for  no  such  rustics. 

Ben  Jomon's  Tale  of  Robin  Hood. 

When  Quentin  sallied  from  the  convent,  he  could 
mark  the  precipitate  retreat  of  the  Bohemian,  whose 
dark  figure  was  seen  in  the  fair  moonlight,  flying 
with  the  speed  of  a  flogged  hound  quite  through 
the  street  of  the  little  village,  and  across  the  level 
meadow  that  lay  beyond. 

u  My  friend  runs  fast,"  said  Quentin  to  himself; 
"  but  he  must  run  faster  yet  to  escape  the  fleetest 
foot  ever  pressed  the  heather  of  Glen-Houlakin." 

Being  fortunately  without  his  cloak  and  armour, 
the  Scottish  mountaineer  was  at  liberty  to  put  forth 


260  THE   ESPIED  SPY. 

a  speed  which  was  unrivalled  in  his  own  glens,  and 
which,  notwithstanding  the  rate  at  which  the  Bohe- 
mian ran,  was  like  soon  to  bring  his  pursuer  up 
with  him.  This  was  not,  however,  Quentin's  object; 
for  he  considered  it  more  essential  to  watch  his 
motions,  than  to  interrupt  them.  He  was  the  rather 
led  to  this,  by  the  steadiness  with  which  the  Bohe- 
mian directed  his  course;  and  which  continuing, 
even  after  the  impulse  of  the  violent  expulsion  had 
subsided,  seemed  to  indicate  that  his  career  had 
some  more  certain  goal  for  its  object  than  could 
have  suggested  itself  to  a  person  unexpectedly 
turned  out  of  good  quarters,  when  midnight  was 
approaching,  to  seek  a  new  place  of  repose.  He 
never  even  looked  behind  him;  and  consequently 
Durward  was  enabled  to  follow  him  unobserved. 
At  length  the  Bohemian  having  traversed  the 
meadow,  and  attained  the  side  of  a  little  stream,  the 
sides  of  which  were  clothed  with  alders  and  wil- 
lows, Quentin  observed  that  he  stood  still,  and 
blew  a  low  note  on  his  horn,  which  was  answered 
by  a  whistle  at  some  distance. 

"  This  is  a  rendezvous,"  thought  Quentin;  "  but 
how  shall  I  come  near  enough  to  overhear  the  im- 
port of  what  passes?  the  sound  of  my  steps,  and  the 
rustling  of  the  boughs  through  which  I  must  force 
my  passage  will  betray  me,  unless  I  am  cautious— 
I  will  stalk  them,  by  Saint  Andrew,  as  if  they  were 
Glen-Isla  deer — they  shall  learn  that  I  have  not 
conned  woodcraft  for  nought.  Yonder  they  meet, 
the  two  shadows — and  two  of  them  there  are — odds 
against  me  if  I  am  discovered,  and  if  their  purpose 
be  unfriendly,  as  is  much  to  be  doubted.  And  then 
the  Countess  Isabelle  loses  her  poor  friend!  Well — 
and  he  were  not  worthy  to  be  called  such,  if  he 
were  not  ready  to  meet  a  dozen  in  her  behalf.  Have 
I  not  crossed  swords  with  Dunois,  the  best  knight 
in  France,  and  shall  I  fear  a  tribe  of  yonder  vaga- 


THE  ESPIED  SPY.  261 

bonds? — Pshaw — God  and  Saint  Andrew  to  friend, 
they  will  find  me  both  stout  and  wary." 

Thus  resolving,  and  with  a  degree  of  caution 
taught  him  by  his  sylvan  habits,  our  friend  de- 
scended into  the  channel  of  the  little  stream,  which 
varied  in  depth,  sometimes  scarce  covering  his 
shoes,  sometimes  coming  up  to  his  knees,  and  so 
crept  along,  his  form  concealed  by  the  boughs  over- 
hanging the  bank,  and  his  steps  unheard  amid  the 
ripple  of  the  water.  (We  have  ourselves,  in  the 
days  of  yore,  thus  approached  the  nest  of  the  wake- 
ful raven.)  In  this  manner,  the  Scot  drew  near 
unperceived,  until  he  distinctly  heard  the  voices 
of  those  who  were  the  subject  of  his  observation, 
though  he  could  not  distinguish  the  words.  Being 
at  this  time  under  the  drooping  branches  of  a  mag- 
nificent weeping  willow,  which  almost  swept  the 
surface  of  the  water,  he  caught  hold  of  one  of  its 
boughs,  by  the  assistance  of  which,  exerting  at  once 
much  agility,  dexterity,  and  strength,  he  raised 
himself  up  into  the  body  of  the  tree,  and  sat,  secure 
from  discovery,  among  the  central  branches. 

From  this  situation  he  could  discover  that  the 
person  with  whom  Hayraddin  was  now  conversing 
was  one  of  his  own  tribe,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
he  perceived,  to  his  great  disappointment,  that  no 
approximation  could  enable  him  to  comprehend 
their  language,  which  was  totally  unknown  to  him. 
They  laughed  much;  and  as  Hayraddin  made  a 
sign  of  skipping  about,  and  ended  by  rubbing  his 
shoulder  with  his  hand,  Durward  had  no  doubt 
that  he  was  relating  the  story  of  the  bastinading, 
which  he  had  sustained  nrpu'mne  to  ^„o^~  f — -  .u~ 

On  a  sudden,  a  whistle  was  again  heard  in  the 
distance,  which  was  once  more  answered  by  a  low 
tone  or  two  of  Hayraddin's  horn.  Presently  after- 
wards, a  tall  stout  soldierly-looking  man,  a  strong 
contrast  in  point  of  thewes  and  sinews  to  the  small 


262  THE  ESPIED  SPY. 

and  slender-limbed  Bohemians,  made  his  appearance. 
He  had  a  broad  baldrick  over  his  shoulder,  which 
sustained  a  sword  that  hung  almost  across  his  per- 
son; his  hose  were  much  slashed,  through  which 
slashes  was  drawn  silk  or  tiffany,  of  various  co- 
lours; they  were  tied  by  at  least  five  hundred  points 
or  strings,  made  of  riband,  to  the  tight  buff-jacket 
which  he  wore,  and  the  right  sleeve  of  which  dis- 
played a  silver  boar's  head,  the  crest  of  his  captain. 
A  very  small  hat  sat  jauntily  on  one  side  of  his  head, 
from  which  descended  a  quantity  of  curled  hair, 
which  fell  on  each  side  of  a  broad  face,  and  mingled 
with  as  broad  a  beard,  about  four  inches  long.  He 
held  a  long  lance  in  his  hand;  and  his  whole  equip- 
ment was  that  of  one  of  the  German  adventurers, 
who  were  known  by  the  name  of  Lanzknechts,  in  En- 
glish, spearmen,  who  constituted  a  formidable  part 
of  the  infantry  of  the  period.  These  mercenaries 
were,  of  course,  a  fierce  and  rapacious  soldiery,  and 
having  an  idle  tale  current  among  themselves,  that  a 
Lanzknecht  was  refused  admittance  into  heaven  on 
account  of  his  vices,  and  into  hell  on  the  score  of  his 
tumultuous,  mutinous,  and  insubordinate  disposi- 
tion, they  manfully  acted  as  if  they  neither  sought 
the  one,  nor  eschewed  the  other. 

4t  Donner  and  blitz!"  was  his  first  salutation,  in  a 
sort  of  German  French,  which  we  can  only  imper- 
fectly imitate,  "  Why  have  you  kept  me  dancing  in 
attendance  dis  dree  nights?" 

"  I  could   not  see  you  sooner,  Meinherr,"  said 

Hayraddin,  very  submissively;  "there  is  a  young 

Scot,  with   as   quick  an  eye  as  the  wild-cat,  who 

watches  mv  least  motions.  He  suspects  me  already, 
and,  should  ne  mia  nis  suspinvuo  j~~.~.-    _i    T  «»«» 

a  dead  man  on  the  spot,  and  he  would  carry  back  the 

women  into  France  again?" 

"  Was  henker!"  said  the  Lanzknecht;  "  we   are 

three — we  will  attack  them  to-morrow,  and  carry  the 

women  off  without  going  farther.    You  said  the  two 


THE  ESPIED  SPY.  263 

valets  were  cowards — you  and  your  comrade  may 
manage  them,  and  the  Teufel  sail  hold  me,  but  I 
match  your  Scots  wild  cat." 

M  You  will  find  that  fool-hardy,"  said  Hayraddin; 
41  for,  besides  that  we  ourselves  count  not  much  in 
fighting,  this  spark  hath  matched  himself  with  the 
best  knight  in  France,  and  come  off  with  honour— 
I  have  seen  those  who  saw  him  press  Dunois  hard 
enough." 

41  Hagel  and  Sturmwetter!  It  is  but  your  cowardice 
that  speaks,"  said  the  German  soldier. 

44  I  am  no  more  a  coward  than  yourself,"  said 
Hayraddin;  4t  but  my  trade  is  not  fighting. — II  you 
keep  the  appointment  where  it  was  laid,  it  is  well— 
if  not,  I  guide  them  safely  to  the  Bishop's  Palace, 
and  William  de  la  Marck  may  easily  possess  himself 
of  them  there,  providing  he  is  half  as  strong  as  he 
pretended  a  week  since." 

"  Poz  tausend!"  said  the  soldier,  "  we  are  as 
strong  and  stronger;  but  we  hear  of  a  hundreds  of 
the  lances  of  Burgund, — das  ist — see  you, — fire  men 
to  a  lance  do  make  five  hundreds,  and  then,  hold  me 
the  devil,  they  will  be  fainer  to  seek  for  us,  than  we 
to  seek  for  them;  for  der  Bischoff  hath  a  goot  force 
on  footing — ay,  indeed!" 

44  You  must  then  hold  to  the  ambuscade,  at  the 
Cross  of  the  Three  Kings,  or  give  up  the  adventure," 
said  the  Bohemian. 

"  Geb  up — geb  up  the  adventure  of  the  rich  bride 
for  our  noble  hauptman — Teufel!  I  will  charge 
through  hell  first. — Mein  soul,  we  will  be  all  princes 
and  hertzogs,whom  they  call  dukes,  and  we  willhab 
a  snab  at  the  wein-kellar,  and  at  the  mouldy  French 
crowns,  and  it  may  be  at  the  pretty  garces  too,  when 
He  with  de  beard  is  weary  on  them." 

"The  ambuscade  at  the  Cross  of  the  Three  Kings 
then  still  holds,"  said  the  Bohemian. 

44  Mein  Got,  ay, — you  will  swear  to  bring  them 
there;  and  when  they  are  on  their  knees  before  the 


264  THE  ESPIED  SPY. 

cross,  and  down  from  off  their  horses,  which  all  men 
do,  except  such  black  heathens  as  thou,  we  will 
make  in  on  them  and  they  are  ours." 

44  Ay;  but  I  promised  this  piece  of  necessary  vil- 
lainy only  on  one  condition,"  said  Hayraddin.— u  I 
will  not  have  a  hair  of  the  young  man's  head  touch- 
ed. If  you  swear  this  to  me,  by  your  Three  dead 
Men  of  Cologne,  I  will  swear  to  you,  by  the  Seven 
Night  Walkers,  that  I  will  serve  you  truly  as  to  the 
rest.  And  if  you  break  your  oath,  the  Night  Walk- 
ers shall  wake  you  seven  nights  from  your  sleep, 
between  night  and  morning,  and,  on  the  eighth,  they 
shall  strangle  and  devour  you." 

44  But,  donner  and  hagcl,  what  need  you  be  so  cu- 
rious about  the  life  of  this  boy,  who  is  neither  your 
bloot  nor  kin?"  said  the  German. 

44  No  matter  for  that,  honest  Heinrick;  some  men 
have  pleasure  in  cutting  throats,  some  in  keeping 
them  whole — So  swear  to  me,  that  you  will  spare 
him  life  and  limb,  or,  by  the  bright  star  Aldeboran, 
this  matter  shall  go  no  further—  Swear,  and  by  the 
Three  Kings,  as  \ou  call  them,  of  Cologne — I  know 
you  care  for  no  other  oath." 

44  Du  bist  ein  comische  man,"  said  the  Lanz- 
knecht, 44  I  was  swear " 

44  Not  yet,"  said  the  Bohemian — "  Faces  about, 
brave  Lanzknecht,  and  look  to  the  east,  else  the 
Kings  may  not  hear  you." 

The  soldier  took  the  oath  in  manner  prescribed, 
and  then  declared  that  he  would  be  in  readiness,  ob- 
serving the  place  was  quite  convenient,  being  scarce 
five  miles  from  their  present  leaguer. 

44  But,  were  it  not  making  sure  work  to  have  a 
fahnlein  of  riders  on  the  other  road,  by  the  left  side 
of  the  inn,  which  might  trap  them  if  they  go  that 
way?" 

The  Bohemian  considered  a  moment,  and  then 
answered,  44  No — the  appearance  of  their  troops  in 
that  direction  might  alarm  the  garrison  of  Namur, 


THE    ESPIED  SPY.  £65 

and  then  they  would  have  a  doubtful  fight,  instead 
of  assured  success.  Besides,  they  shall  travel  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  Macs,  for  I  can  guide  them  which- 
way  I  will;  for  sharp  as  this  same  Scoctish  moun- 
taineer is,  he  hath  never  asked  any  one's  advice, 
save  mine,  upon  the  direction  of  their  route. — Un- 
doubtedly, I  was  assigned  to  him  by  an  assured 
friend,  whose  word,  no  man  mistrusts,  till  they  come 
to  know  him  a  little." 

u  Hark  ye,  friend  Hayraddin,"  said  the  soldier, 
u  I  would  ask  you  somewhat. — You  and  your  bru- 
der  were,  as  you  say  yourself,  gross  sternen-deuter, 
that  is,  star-lookers  and  giester-seers — Now,  what 
henker  was  it  made  you  not  foresee  him  to  be 
hanged?" 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Heinrick,"  said  Hayraddin; — 
u  if  I  could  have  known  my  brother  was  such  a  fool 
as  to  tell  the  counsel  of  King  Louis  to  Duke  Charles 
of  Burgundy,  I  could  have  foretold  his  death  as 
sure  as  I  can  foretell  fair  weather  in  Julv.  Louis 
hath  both  ears  and  hands  at  the  court  of  Burgundy, 
and  Charles's  counsellors  love  the  chink  of  French 
gold  as  well  as  thou  doest  the  clatter  of  a  wine-pot.«— 
But  fare  thee  well,  and  keep  appointment. — I  must 
await  my  early  Scot  a  bow-shot  without  the  gate  of 
the  den  of  the  lazy  swine  yonder,  else  will  he  think 
me  about  some  excursion  which  bodes  no  good  to  the 
success  of  his  journey." 

"  Take  a  draught  of  comfort  first  "  said  the  Lanz- 
knecht,  tendering  him  a  flask, — u  but  I  forget;  thou 
art  beast  enough  to  drink  nothing  but  water,  like  a 
vile  vassal  of  Mahound  and  Termagund." 

"  Thou  art  thyself  a  vassal  of  the  wine-measure, 
and  the  flagon,"  said  the  Bohemian, — "  I  marvel 
not  that  thou  art  only  trusted  with  the  blood-thirsty, 
and  the  violent  part  of  executing  what  better  heads 
have  devised. — He  must  drink  no  wine,  who  would 
know  the  thoughts  of  others,  or  hide  his  own.  But 
why  preach  to  thee,  who  hast  a  thirst  as  eternal  as  a 

Vol.  L— 23 


266  THE  ESPIED  SPY. 

sand-bank  in  Arabia? — Fare  thee  well.— Take  my 
comrade  Tuisco  with  thee — his  appearance  about 
the  monastery  may  breed  suspicion." 

The  two  worthies  parted,  after  each  had  again 
pledged  himself  to  keep  the  rendezvous  at  the  Cross 
of  the  Three  Kings. 

Qucntin  Dur^ard  watched  until  they  were  out  of 
sight,  and  then  descended  from  his  place  of  conceal- 
ment, his  heart  throbbing  at  the  narrow  escape  which 
he  and  his  fair  charge  had  made — if,  indeed,  it 
could  yet  be  achieved, — from  a  deep-laid  plan  of 
villainy.  Afraid,  on  his  return  to  the  monastery,  of 
stumbling  upon  Hayraddin,  he  made  a  long  detour, 
at  the  expense  of  traversing  some  very  rough  ground, 
and  was  thus  enabled  to  return  to  his  asylum  on  a 
different  point  from  that  on  which  he  left  it. 

On  the  route,  he  communed  earnestly  with  him- 
self concerning  the  safest  plan  to  be  pursued.  He 
had  formed  the  resolution,  when  he  first  heard  Hay- 
raddin avow  his  treachery,  to  put  him  to  death  so 
soon  as  the  conference  broke  up,  and  his  compa- 
nions were  at  a  sufficient  distance;  but  when  he 
heard  the  Bohemian  express  so  much  interest  in 
saving  his  own  life,  he  felt  it  would  be  difficult  for 
him  to  execute  upon  him,  in  its  rigour,  the  punish- 
ment his  treachery  had  deserved.  He  therefore  re- 
solved to  spare  his  life,  and  even,  if  possible,  still 
to  use  his  services  as  a  guide,  under  such  precau- 
tions as  should  ensure  the  security  of  the  precious 
charge,  to  the  preservation  of  which  his  own  life  was 
internally  devoted. 

But  whither  were  they  to  turn — the  Countesses 
of  Croye  could  neither  obtain  shelter  in  Burgundy, 
from  which  the}-  had  fled,  nor  in  France,  from 
which  they  had  been  in  a  manner  expelled.  The 
violence  of  Duke  Charles  in  the  one  country,  was 
scarce  more  to  be  feared  than  the  cold  and  tyranni- 
cal policy  of  King  Louis  in  the  other.  After  deep 
thought,    Durward  could  form  no  better  or  safer 


TflE  ESPIED  SPY.  267 

plan  for  their  safety,  than  that,  evading  the  ambus- 
cade, they  should  take  the  road  to  Liege  by  the  left 
hand  of  the  Maes,  and  throw  themselves,  as  the 
ladies  themselves  originally  designed,  upon  the  pro- 
tection of  the  excellent  Bishop.  That  Prelate's  will 
to  protect  them  could  not  be  doubted,  and,  if  rein- 
forced bv  this  Burgundian  party  of  men-at-arms,  he 
might  be  considered  as  having  the  power.  At  any 
rate,  if  the  dangers  to  which  he  was  exposed  from 
the  hostility  of  William  de  la  Marck,  and  from  the 
troubles  in  the  citv  of  Liege,  appeared  imminent, 
he  could  still  protect  the  unfortunate  ladies  until 
they  could  be  despatched  to  Germany  with  a  suit- 
able escort. 

To  sum  up  this  reasoning,  for  when  is  a  mental 
argument  conducted  without  some  reference  to 
selfish  considerations? — Quemin  imagined  that  the 
death  or  captivitv  to  which  King  Louis  had,  in  cold 
blood,  consigned  him,  set  him  at  liberty  from  his 
engage mt  nts  to  the  Crown  of  France;  which,  there- 
fore, it  w  as  his  determined  purpose  to  renounce. 
The  Bishop  of  Liege  was  likelv,  he  concluded,  to 
need  soldiers,  and  he  thought  that,  by  the  interpo- 
sition of  his  -fair  friends,  who  now,  especially  the 
elder  Countess,  treated  him  with  much  familiarity, 
he  might  get  aome  command,  and  perhaps  might 
have  the  charge  of  conducting  the  Ladies  of  Croye 
to  some  place  more  safe  than  the  neighbourhood  of 
Liege.  And  to  conclude,  the  ladies  had  talked,  al- 
though almost  in  a  sort  of  jest,  of  raising  the 
Countess's  own  vassals,  and,  as  others  did  in  these 
stormy  times,  fortifying  her  strong  castle  against 
all  assailants  whatsoever;  they  had  jestingly  asked 
Quentin,  whether  he  would  accept  the  perilous  office 
of  their  Seneschal;  and  on  his  accepting  the  office 
with  ready  glee  and  devotion,  they  had,  in  the  same 
spirit,  permitted  him  to  kiss  both  their  hauds  on 
that  confidential  and  honourable  appoiir  N$y» 

he  thought  that  the  hand  of  the  Countess  Isabelle, 


268  75H«  ESPIED  SPY 

one  of  the  best  formed  and  most  beautiful  to  which 
true  vassal  ever  did  such  homage,  trembled  when 
his  lips  rested  on  it  a  moment  longer  than  ceremony 
required,  and  that  some  confusion  appeared  on  her 
cheek  and  in  her  eye  as  she  withdrew  it.  Something 
Blight  come  of  all  this;  and  what  brave  man,  at 
Quentin  Durward7s  age,  but  would  gladly  have 
taken  the  thoughts  which  it  awakened,  into  the  con- 
siderations which  were  to  determine  his  conduct? 

This  point  settled,  he  had  next  to  consider  in 
what  degree  he  was  to  use  the  further  guidance 
of  the  faithless  Bohemian.  He  had  renounced  his 
first  thought  of  killing  him  in  the  wood,  and  if  he 
took  another  guide,  and  dismissed  him  alive,  it 
would  be  sending  the  traitor  to  the  camp  of  William 
de  la  Marck,  with  intelligence  of  their  motions.  He 
thought  of  taking  the  Prior  into  his  councils,  and 
requesting  him  to  detain  the  Bohemian  by  force 
until  they  should  have  time  to  reach  the  Bishop's 
castle;  but,  on  reflection,  he  dared  not  hazard  such 
a  proposition  to  one  who  was  timid  both  as  an  old 
man  and  a  friar,  who  held  the  safety  of  his  con- 
vent the  most  important  object  of  his  duty,  and 
who  trembled  at  the  mention  of  the  Wild  Boar 
of  Ardennes. 

At  length  Durward  settled  a  plan  of  operation, 
on  which  he  could  the  better  reckon,  as  the  execu- 
tion rested  entirely  upon  himself;  and  in  the  cause 
in  which  he  was  engaged,  he  felt  himself  capable 
of  every  thing.  With  a  firm  and  bold  heart,  though 
conscious  of  the  dangers  of  his  situation,  Quentin 
might  be  compared  to  one  walking  under  a  load,  of 
the  weight  of  which  he  is  conscious,  but  which  yet 
is  not  beyond  his  strength  and  power  of  endurance. 
Just  as  his  plan  was  determined,  he  reached  the 
convent. 

Upon  knocking  gently  at  the  gate,  a  brother,  con- 
siderately stationed  for  that  purpose  by  the  Prior, 
opened  it,  and  acquainted    him  that  the  brethren 


THE  ESPIED   SPY.  269 

were  to  be  stationed  in  the  choir  till  day-break,  pray- 
ing Heaven  to  Forgive  to  the  community  the  various 
scandals  which  had  that  evening  taken  place  amorig 
them. 

The  worthy  friar  offered  Quentin  permission  to 
attend  their  devotions;  but  his  clothes  were  in  such 
a  wet  condition,  that  the  young  Scot  was  obliged  to 
decline  the  opportunity,  and  request  permission  in- 
stead to  sit  by  the  kitchen  fire,  in  order  to  his  attire 
being  dried  before  morning,  as  he  was  particularly 
desirous  that  the  Bohemian,  when  they  should  next 
meet,  should  observe  no  traces  of  his  having  been 
abroad  during  the  night.  The  friar  not  only  grant- 
ed his  request,  but  afforded  him  his  own  company, 
which  fell  in  very  happily  with  the  desire  which 
Durward  had  to  obtain  information  concerning  the 
two  routes  which  he  had  heard  mentioned  by  the 
Bohemian  in  his  conversation  with  the  Lanzknecht. 
The  friar,  entrusted  upon  many  occasions  with  the 
business  of  the  convent  abroad,  was  the  person  in 
the  fraternity  best  qualified  to  afford  him  the  infor- 
mation he  requested,  but  observed  that,  as  true  pil- 
grims, it  became  the  duty  of  the  ladies  whom  Quen- 
tin escorted  to  take  the  road  on  the  right  side  of  the 
Maes,  by  the  Cross  of  the  Kings,  where  the  blessed 
reliques  of  Casper,  Melchior,  and  Balthasar,(as  the 
Catholic  Church  has  named  the  eastern  Magi  who 
came  to  Bethlehem  with  their  offerings,)  had  rested 
as  they  were  transported  to  Colonge,  and  on  which 
spot  they  had  wrought  many  miracles. 

Quentin  replied,  that  the  ladies  were  determined 
to  observe  all  the  holy  stations  with  tne  utmost 
punctuality,  aud  would  certainly  visit  that  of  the 
Cross,  either  in  going  to,  or  returning  from  Cologne, 
but  they  had  heard  reports  that  the  road  by  the 
right  side  of  the  river  was  at  present  rendered  un- 
safe by  the  soldiers  of  the  ferocious  William  de 
la  Marck. 

"  Now  may  Heaven  forbid,"  said  Father  Francis, 


270  THE  ESPIED  SPY. 

"  that  the  Wild  Boar  of  Ardennes  should  again 
make  his  lair  so  near  us! — Nevertheless,  the  broad 
Maes  will  be  a  good  barrier  betwixt  us,  even  should 
it  so  chance." 

u  But  it  will  be  no  barrier  between  my  ladies  and 
the  marauder,  should  we  cross  the  river,  and  travel 
on  the  right  bank,"  answered  the  Scot. 

tk  H  aven  will  protect  its  own,  young  man,"  said 
the  friar;  u  for  it  were  hard  to  think  that  the  Kings 
of  yonder  blessed  city  of  Cologne,  who  will  not  en- 
dure that  a  Jew  or  Infidel  should  even  enter  within 
the  walls  of  their  town,  could  be  oblivious  enough 
to  permit  their  worshippers,  coming  to  their  shrine 
as  true  pilgrims,  to  be  plundered  and  misused  by 
such  a  miscreant  dog  as  this  Boar  of  Ardennes,  who 
is  worse  than  a  whole  desert  of  Saracen  heathens, 
and  all  the  ten  tribes  of  Israel  to  boot." 

Whatever  reliance  Quentin,  as  a  sincere  Catholic, 
was  bound  to  rest  upon  the  special  protection  of 
Melchior,  Caspar,  and  Balthasar,  he  could  not  but 
recollect,  that  the  pilgrim  habits  of  the  ladies  being 
assumed  out  of  mere  earthly  policy,  he  and  his 
charge  could  scarce  expect  their  countenance  on  the 
present  occasion;  and  therefore  resolved,  as  far  as 
possible,  to  avoid  placing  the  ladies  in  any  predica- 
ment where  miraculous  interposition  might  be  ne- 
cessary; whilst,  in  the  simplicity  of  his  good  faith, 
he  himself  vowed  a  pilgrimage  to  the  three  Kings 
of  Cologne  in  his  own  proper  person,  providing  the 
simulate  design  of  those  over  whose  safety  he  was 
now  watchful,  should  be  permitted  by  those  reason- 
able and  royal,  as  well  as  sainted  personages,  to  at- 
tain the  desired  effect. 

That  he  might  enter  into  this  obligation  with  all 
solemnity,  he  requested  the  friar  to  show  him  into 
one  of  the  various  chapels  which  opened  from  the 
main  body  of  the  church  of  the  convent,  where  upon 
his  knees,  and  with  sincere  devotion,  he  ratified 
the  vow  which  he  had  made  internally.    The  distant 


THE  ESPIED   SPY.  271 

sound  of  the  choir,  the  solemnity  of  the  deep  and 
dead  hour  which  he  had  chosen  for  this  act  of  devo- 
tion, the  effect  of  the  glimmering  lamp  with  which 
the  little  Gothic  building  was  illuminated — all  con- 
tributed to  throw  Quentin's  mind  into  the  state  when 
it  most  readily  acknowledges  its  human  frailty,  and 
seeks  that  supernatural  aid  and  protection,  which, 
in  every  worship,  must  be  connected  with  repentance 
for  past  sins  and  resolutions  of  future  amendment. 
That  the  object  of  his  devotion  was  misplaced,  was 
not  the  fault  of  Quentin;  and,  its  purpose  being  sin- 
cere, we  can  scarce  suppose  it  unacceptable  to  the 
only  true  deity,  who  regards  the  motives  and  not 
the  forms  of  prayer,  and  in  whose  eyes  the  sincere 
devotion  of  a  heathen  is  more  estimable  than  the 
specious  hypocrisy  of  a  Pharisee. 

Having  commended  himself  and  his  helpless  com- 
panions to  the  Saints,  and  to  the  keeping  of  Provi- 
dence, Quentin  at  length  retired  to  rest,  leaving  the 
friar  much  edified  by  the  depth  and  sincerity  of  his 
devotion. 


END  OF   VOL.  I. 


HECKMAN      IMl 

"noewinc.     l-M 
MAV  96        I 


